


Lost to the Archives

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Cardverse, I will give warnings on appropriate chapters, M/M, Not between Alfred and Arthur, Slow Build, There will be mentions of non-con and underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 176,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There weren't many things that could upset the fragile balance of the might monarchies of the Card Kingdoms, but when an old enemy makes a move to overthrow the Kingdom of Spades, things get more than a bit complicated.<br/>The tensions between war-waging kingdoms  begin to rise. A new king struggles to take his place on a cold throne, and a queen fights to reassure the troubled relationships of the bordering kingdoms.<br/>When a monarch is faced with a choice between waging war and paying a debt for a crime never committed, lives will be set off-balance, reality will be twisted, and fate itself will be refocused to guide the hands of the helpless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arae Domi

**Author's Note:**

> My dears, this Hetalia story is set in the Hetalia Cardverse, an AU that I deeply enjoy.  
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.  
> This chapter wouldn't be mistake-free without my darling beta,[ Jess. ](http://thankyoumrdata.tumblr.com/) Thank you, darling.  
> Please feel free to drop by my [ Tumblr ](http://ameliakaleigh.tumblr.com/) with questions, comments, or concerns.

“Honey, have you seen my sunglasses?”

                Alfred sat on the kitchen counter, slowly bringing one spoonful of cereal to his mouth after another as he watched the television from his perch. His mother moved about the kitchen in a flustered rush, looking under a pile of magazines before coming to stand in front of her son. Alfred leaned around her to see the pretty weather girl, but his mother leaned with him, snapping her fingers in front of Alfred crystalline blue eyes and raising her eyebrows. Alfred chewed his sugary cereal with a smile, giving his mother his undivided attention.

“Sunglasses, Alfy. Have you seen ‘em?”

“Nope,” Alfred said with a shrug, putting the spoon into his mouth once more and crunching loudly as his mother growled and continued to look around the kitchen. “What’s the big deal?” He said through a mouthful of half-chewed corn flakes and milk. “You’re gonna be inside anyway.”

“I need to drive, Alfy. When I drive this early, the sun comes up,” his mother went through the doorway that linked the kitchen and living room together and started to lift cushions from the sofa, inspecting the interior of the furniture. “When the sun comes up, I’m blind.”

“Oh, that’s where I get the bad eyesight from,” Alfred said sarcastically, adjusting his glasses as his mother turned to him with a sharp glare.

This was just another Tuesday morning in the Jones household. While Alfred’s mother grumbled something about her son getting his sarcasm from his father, a voice travelled down the stairs to meet the two family members on the first floor.

“Sarah, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate today, but could you maybe see if the contractor is coming to fix the sink today? I’ve got four lectures and two labs to finish up. Not to mention the papers I need to grade…”

Alfred’s mother stood up from where she had been kneeling on the floor to see if her glasses had somehow crawled beneath the sofa to hide, brushing her hands over her crisp, pink pants before pushing her brown hair from her eyes.

“Honey, I can’t. Two clients are sure that they can’t get out of bed and their houses are pretty far from the office.” Alfred looked at his mother to see her roll her eyes, and he gave her a sympathetic shrug. “Maybe Alfy could do it?”

“Alfy can’t do it!” Alfred said quickly, speaking in third person as he set his bowl on the counter and jumped down to make haste to his backpack. “Alfy is very busy today!”

“Nice try, sport,” Alfred’s father came down the stairs, straightening his brown, polka-dotted tie with a smile. His brown pants and white dress shirt completed the look of “University Professor”, and gave him a distinct air of difference in comparison to his student son and masseuse wife. “You’re going to call the contractor today.”

“But I have school, Dad.”

“After school.” His father pulled a sticky note from the board next to the sink.

“What if I have a sport… or activity?”

 “I know you don’t. After school, call the contractor and ask when he’s coming.”

Alfred’s father began to jot down the number of the contractor with a smile; Alfred had always loved to find excuses not to do things. When the young blonde gave a heavy sigh, his father slapped the sticky note onto the counter, and Alfred gave another sigh. Alfred didn’t like talking to people he didn’t know on the phone. Shuffling to the dinner table, Alfred opened up his backpack while his mother asked her husband if he’d seen her sunglasses. Alfred glared into his notebook-filled bag. Where did he leave his math book?

“On the chair?” Alfred’s father suggested, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. He watched his wife walk around the kitchen table and Alfred. Alfred himself was busy digging through his folders and binders; looking in vain for his math book. When Sarah Jones stood up straight and let out an angry shout about how she was going to be late, Alfred gave his mother a hard stare.

“Have you seen my math book?”

Sarah gave her son a confused look before waving her hand at his question dismissively.

“Dean, I can’t find them, and I’m going to be late! Did you see them on the nightstand this morning?”

                While Sarah and Dean Jones started to bicker over whether or not one of them had misplaced the sunglasses that Sarah had gotten on their anniversary trip to Hawaii, Alfred started to worry. He needed his math book for his first class. If he didn’t have it again, there was no doubt that his teacher would call on him during class and force him to admit his bad habit of neglecting to bring his math book for the fifth time in two weeks.

“Mom, I need my math book.” He heard the two adults stop their conversation to look at their son quickly. “I can’t find it.”

“You two are so alike. Missing things all over the place,” Dean said with a smile, taking a sip of coffee before his wife slapped his arm with a flurry of angry insults on her lips.

Alfred rolled his eyes and wandered around the kitchen, looking over the cluttered counters before padding over to the living room where he looked on the coffee table and checked behind the sofa: the book was nowhere to be seen.

“Check your room, honey. It might be there.”

“Yeah,” Alfred muttered, glancing at his watch and blinking at the hands that were moving far too fast. He was going to be late for first bell. “Yeah, I’ll look.”

                Leaving the resonating sounds of his parents’ pointed conversation on the first floor of the home, Alfred bounded up the stairs and forward down the hall toward his room that was nestled in the far corner. Stepping into the room quickly, he made a face when he caught sight of the mess of blankets that was his bed and the seven levels of Hell that was his laundry hamper. He lifted blankets and tossed his pillows around the room. He had been doing calculus problems from the book just the previous evening. How could it have disappeared?

“Come on,” Alfred grumbled, getting down on his knees to glare at the underside of his bed, filled to the brim sports gear – soccer cleats, a baseball bat, several baseball gloves – before sitting up and looking pointedly around the room. There, on his dressing table, sat his math book. Hidden in plain sight. Alfred raised an eyebrow and shook his head as he stood up. “Wow. Really?”

                When he reached out to take up the book and rush back downstairs, the teen paused for only a moment to see what was lying atop the cover. A card. Alfred mused that it was something like a playing card, but it was much too big. At least double the size of any playing card he’d ever seen or used before, the card was intricately designed with spirals of blue and starburst shades of purple that danced around the edges. Was it some kind of joke? The card had three words written on it: King Of Spades. Alfred huffed a breath of laughter; maybe one of the Tactical Game Club members had dropped it, and it was part of their variety of games. That explanation was the only one that made sense in Alfred’s head.

                He picked up the card, turning it over in his hand to look at the back, only to see a dark navy blue canvas; there was no name on the back. Almost any card game Alfred had seen the club playing when he walked past them in the library had the name of the game on the back. Alfred flipped it over again to look at the front again, squinting at it with a frown. What was it? Before he could wander out of the room and ask his mom what he should do with it, the card was gone.

                Gone. Disappeared. Poof.

                Turning in a quick circle, Alfred looked around the room for it; had he dropped it, or had he just imagined the entire thing? When the door to his bedroom clicked shut, he turned to see the card stuck to the wooden surface on the door with the writing facing him innocently, like it belonged there, on his door. Alfred stumbled back a pace, giving the card a hard look as if it would magically begin to obey the laws of physics and fall from its place against the door, yet it didn’t move. It remained stuck to the door.

“Mom,” he called, just loud enough that he was sure his parents would hear him downstairs. Only silence responded, leaving a cold echo to ring through the house in place of his parents familiar voices. “Mom, was that you?” More silence met his words, and he approached his door with an irrational amount of caution. What was he afraid of? Maybe he’d been watching too many paranormal movies with his friends, and it was getting to him. He gave the card on his door one sparing glance as he gripped the doorknob. “Did you close my door? It’s not funny.”

                When he opened the door, there was no hallway. It was another room.

Alfred blinked, but it was still there. It was not his imagination; it was reality. In front of him stretched a bedroom fit for a King, if there was such a thing. There was a large, plush-looking bed in the middle of the room, covered in deep, royal blue blankets and throw pillows. There were large cabinets of smooth oak on the right side of the room, and windows covered the expanse of the right wall. Crystal vases sat on small tables about the room, and different varieties of flowers were settled in each one. It was a picture from a storybook or an image of a historical palace across the pond.

                Alfred staggered back from the sight, and slammed his door shut. It was not real. It couldn’t be. Things like that, cheesy and overused in magical movies, never happened in real life and definitely not to a boy like Alfred. He was a simple, American teenager, with a simple life that revolved around his final year in high school and his part time job in a small book store. Magic wasn’t real, and whatever he just saw was a delusion.

                Turning to look around his room, Alfred put a hand to his forehead, feeling nothing but his despairingly sweaty palms against temperate skin. Maybe it was some sort of drug or a gas leak in the house. Alfred sniffed at the air, smelling nothing but his decaying laundry. His nose wrinkled, and he rotated his stance to glare at the card on his door. Intent on removing it, he brought up his hands and tried to pull at the edges of the card to no avail. It was as if the card had been fused to the surface of the door, stuck with no chance of removal.

“Oh, come _on_!”

                Alfred scratched at the card with his fingernails, beginning to panic at the thought that he was in the middle of some prank. He hated pranks. The last prank his friends had pulled on him landed him in the doctors’ office without any trousers. When he would catch the fine edge of the card under his fingernail, he would have a brief moment of relief, only to realize that the card would not come free. Alfred took a step back from the door with a growl, stomping his feet like a frustrated child and crossing his arms over his chest.

                Maybe it was a dream. An illusion of some sort. Maybe he really was sick, but in a way that could not be measured in a fever. Maybe it was some sort of brain malfunction or tumor. Alfred swallowed. None of those ideas seemed very pleasant. Deciding that a dream would be the most pleasant way to go, Alfred turned the doorknob once more and pulled the door open. If it _was_ a dream, it wouldn’t hurt to have a look around, would it?

                The room was still there, large and spacious as ever. Alfred took small, calculated steps into the room. It was as if the world was just a little darker than his own, giving him the impression that it was not morning, but night time. It stained his blue jeans a dark cobalt, and his grey t-shirt became a sad, robin’s egg blue. It seemed night time was overruling the idea of actual color. Alfred made a face; if he could see the room, there must’ve been some sort of light. Stepping further into the room, Alfred caught sight of the source of light: a burning oil lamp. But, as much as Alfred wanted to inspect the strange lamp, he was much too distracted by the person standing by the flame.

It was a young man, dressed in what Alfred could only describe as extremely formal attire. He twisted a small knob on the lamp and watched quietly as the flame grew in size. Alfred felt awkward; he’d never met anyone like this man, and he knew from several lessons on Psychology that his brain could not invent people in a dream. So, who was he? With his hands covered in gleaming white gloves and a thin white collar around his neck, he seemed like a very male version of a fairy-tale princess. He wore a white shirt with sleeves that would no doubt billow about his wrists if the cuffs weren’t laced up, and his torso was bundled together with a blue vest that shone a silky, sky blue in the light of the lamp. His white trousers were tucked into riding boots, and his blonde hair looked almost golden in the sallow shades of evening and firelight.

Alfred stepped toward the man; it was a dream… wasn’t it? If it was a dream, there shouldn’t be any harm in discovering who the man was.

“Who are you?”

                With a start, the man turned to look at Alfred, and the teen found himself caught up in the glow of emerald irises. His glove-clad right hand flew to his breast, as if the idea of someone else being in the room with him had shocked him into cardiac arrest. Instinctually, Alfred held his hands up in surrender with an apology on his lips while the man looked him up and down with wide eyes.

“Sorry, did I scare you? Of course I scared you. I’m sorry.”

                The man gave him another once-over, backing up with a defensive expression against the desk that the oil lamp was sitting atop. Now, Alfred had originally felt awkward being in a room he didn’t belong in, and then he’d felt awkward for approaching the stranger, now he felt even wrose for scaring the man. It was unusual for Alfred to scare people in his dreams. Normally, _he_ was the one being frightened in his dreams – or he was a super hero fighting for justice – he was never the reason for anyone’s fears. Licking his lips and putting his hands down, Alfred watched as the stranger smoothed his gloved hands over the front of his vest, carful of the broach that hung heavily over his lacy, white collar.

“What an insolent to question to ask me,” the man said sharply, a crisp, British accent ringing through the air as he spoke. Alfred felt his mouth turn up into a smile. He was a sucker for accents, and this man’s voice was smooth as velvet and sweet as chocolate to him. “I am the only one who should be asking questions, the first of which is: who are _you_?”

“Alfred Fitzgerald Jones,” Alfred said quickly, holding out a hand for the man to shake with a smile. When the stranger merely raised an eyebrow and gave Alfred’s extended hand a pointed look, Alfred made a low humming noise in the back of his throat. “Okay, never mind,” he withdrew his hand while the man wrinkled his nose in distaste. “So, where am I? Wonderland, or something?”

“Wonder… what? I beg your pardon. My kingdom is nothing short of wondrous, but I haven’t ever heard it called such a ridiculous name.”

                Alfred’s thoughts stumbled at the man’s mention of the word “kingdom.” Kingdom, king, queen… the card. The card that had sweeping cursive over it and was far too big to be a normal playing card. The card that said quite clearly: King of Spades.

“You mean Spades? I’m in Spades?”

The stranger blinked spastically while he stood away from the desk with his hands on his thin hips.

“Well, of course. Where else would you be? Rather, where else _could_ you be?”

Alfred laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, back in my room? I mean, this is great and all, but if I’m sleeping in past my alarm, my mom is going to be so mad. Like, probably mad enough to kill me. You know. Figuratively,” Alfred nodded to himself as the stranger raised his eyebrows and gave Alfred an alarmed look. “Not that I don’t like it here. You know, this place is –”

“Stop,” The stranger held up a hand to halt the teen, and Alfred smiled at the demanding tone. He’d never met an English person in real life, so it was interesting to dream of one. “You said your bedroom. You obviously aren’t from this dimension –”

“What?”

The Englishman growled something under his breath and his hands clenched into fists as his inquisitive green eyes flashed a threatening glare at Alfred.

“I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, that you are not from this dimension. How is it that you came into my room?”

“Oh. Over there,” Alfred gave a vague wave to the doorway that he’d only just entered the room through, causing the strangers’ eyes to go wide once more. “There was this card, right? Stuck to my door like glue. I tried to get it off, but it didn’t come loose. ‘Slicker than snot on a doorknob’, my grandpa would always say. Man, my dreams are getting crazier than I thought, if I can go thinking all of these crazy –”

“Hush,” the stranger held a hand to Alfred’s lips, effectively silencing him. “You said there was a card on your door. What kind of card? What did it look like? Did it say anything?”

Alfred pursed his lips against the stranger’s gloved hands. They certainly felt real. He wanted to say something, to somehow assure the man that he wasn’t going to harm him. The entire dream _must_ have been some sort of psychological trigger in his head somewhere. A need for mystery… or something. Alfred tried to think it was something like that while the Englishman raised an eyebrow and looked over his expression carefully. It was as if the stranger thought his face would somehow contort into something deadly if he didn’t keep a close eye on it. Before Alfred could ask how the card was important, the stranger had removed his fingers from his lips and was walking to the far side of the room where Alfred had made his entrance. Some dream, Alfred told himself uneasily. It was some kind of dream. It had to be. If it wasn’t, there was definitely something wrong with him.

Not having anything better to do, Alfred followed the stranger, looking over his smooth silhouette in the dark as he neared the illuminated doorway to Alfred’s room. He was certainly dressed to impress. White trousers that fit snugly around thin hips and long legs, a blue vest held his torso together as if he’d fall apart without it, long riding boots that accentuated the sweeping line of his legs. He was _absolutely_ dressed to impress. At least, Alfred was impressed by it. As the stranger neared his doorway with a slightly perturbed expression, Alfred watched carefully as true daylight hit his skin. Fare, porcelain skin that was dusted with a light blush at the sight of Alfred’s bedroom – and most likely his clothes strewn across the floor – and dark purple crescents below his vibrant green eyes, most likely from a lack of sleep, Alfred mused.

In short, the man was beautiful. Most likely the most beautiful person Alfred had ever met. And while the man was standing there in the doorway, being beautiful, Alfred realized that if the man was the most beautiful person he’d ever met, the stranger would have to be someone he couldn’t have met in the past. If his brain couldn’t invent people, maybe this man was a model in one of his mother’s magazines, or a famous singer he’d seen on the television.

Because, it was a dream. Wasn’t it?

“Where is it?” The beautiful stranger asked, his nervous expression quickly being replaced by that of an annoyed visage. He turned to Alfred, keeping his back to the open room and glaring at the American as if he’d been personally offended. “The card you spoke of; it must be near here, or else you would not have come here.”

Alfred nodded slowly, semi-understanding what the man was trying to explain.

“I guess that makes sense. And you…?”

“I want to see the card, boy. Now, where is it?”

                “Oh. Sorry,” Alfred slid past the man and angled his door just a bit so that he could officially point to the card. “There she is. I can’t get it off. Is there a reason I’m dreaming of this? Like some sort of hidden meaning in the way the colors look or how pretty you are?” The stranger gave Alfred a startled look, and the teenager shrugged. Dreams were meant to be talked about, and if he wasn’t waking up any time soon, he would talk about it while he had time. “Or… maybe I’m secretly wishing to get out of my parent’s house. I guess that makes sense.” The stranger hummed lowly while he evaluated the card, tracing one gloved finger over the front of it and reading over the words slowly. Because the man was making some sort of noise that indicated he was listening, Alfred went on. “I mean, nineteen-year-olds all want to get out of the house. Am I right?”

The man gave Alfred a sidelong glance, pursing his lips and letting out a long exhale through his nose. “If it is indeed as common as you think… then yes, you are correct.”

Alfred smiled. “You have a nice way of talking. I bet I heard you on TV. Where you in the one movie…” The teen snapped his fingers as if it would somehow jog his memory before giving up and shrugging loosely. “I can’t remember the name, but I remember there was this English guy who played the villain. I bet it was you. With makeup and stuff. That’s probably why I don’t remember your real face.”

“Fascinating,” the man deadpanned, picking at the sides of the card as if he could somehow get the card to come free.

“Oh, that won’t come off. Believe me, I tried. It’s stuck. Is that another hidden meaning? I mean, the one about you is a dead giveaway. You’re really good-looking. Movie stars are _always_ good looking. I know what that hidden meaning is. Super easy. I already know that I’m bi.” Another strange look from the Englishman, and Alfred gave him a glorious smile. “But, seriously. Who dreams of weird cards that stick to their doors?” Alfred laughed, and the stranger’s brows began to knit together in vague confusion.  “Maybe I really am sick. I bet I have some sort of crazy fever, and that’s why my mom isn’t waking me up.”

“You honestly think this is a dream?”

Alfred’s laugh was choked off by the question, and heavy discomfort settled in the teenager’s stomach. It had to be a dream. Things like this weren’t possible. It was against the laws of nature for such a thing to be possible, let alone the laws of nature. The stranger watched him carefully, his emerald irises working over him in a paranoid manner.

“It _is_ a dream,” Alfred said slowly, as if the stranger was the one making the mistake. “It’s… magic isn’t real. This stuff doesn’t happen in real life.”

Smoothing a white gloved hand over the front of his vest again, the elegant stranger shook his head in disappointment.

“How unfitting. You, of all people, of _all_ dimensions, have to get the card. The real card.”

Alfred felt insulted. He didn’t know exactly why, but he certainly felt insulted. Who did the stranger think he was, walking into Alfred’s dreams, telling him he was unfit to have a large playing card stuck to his door? It was Alfred’s dream, and normally, what he said was law in his dreams. If he thought the sky was green, it was green. If he wanted to fly, he was soaring through the skies. Now, he felt sick to his stomach at the thought that he was really awake, and probably muttering gibberish to his parents. He was most likely hearing voices and seeing cards on the doors. Or maybe he really had a brain tumor that was causing him to see strange things while it slowly took over his brain. His father was a physics professor. He was raised to not believe in magic. The dream stranger had no right to tell him he was unfit to dream.

“Excuse me, but I think I’m perfectly fine the way I am. Magic isn’t real, so this has to be a dream. I can say whatever I want because this is _my_ dream. You can keep all of your crazy ‘dimension’ crap to yourself, alright?”

The stranger’s eyes flashed imperative signals when they turned up to catch Alfred’s gaze. “Danger” and “warning” were the two most important messages that flashed in the jade coloring of the Englishman’s eyes, and Alfred didn’t waste any time be worried. He was frustrated, and this man was confusing him. It couldn’t be reality. It _couldn’t_ be reality.

“Do you need proof, child?”

“Child? I’m nineteen. What are you, twenty-one? You are _crazy._ ”

A swift crack, and Alfred’s head was spinning. His cheek burned, his glasses were thrown askew, and his sense of balance was off. The stranger slapped him. Flat across the face, his right gloved palm ramming straight into Alfred’s left cheek. It stung and burned as Alfred stumbled back, and the back of his knee connected painfully with his bedframe. The tingling skin felt as if it was going numb, but only for a moment. Cold flecks of distorted pin-pricks covered the skin soon after, making the burning sensation feel much worse in comparison to its small bit of coolness. Alfred glared at the stranger, clenching his teeth and taking in a deep breath that sounded more like a hiss as he fixed his glasses.

                “What the hell is wrong with you?” Alfred stepped forward to crowd the stranger’s space, feeling bigger when the Englishman bowed his head and looked away. “You hit me. Why would someone do that? Why would anyone do that? Just to prove a point?”

                “You didn’t believe that this was real, so I rectified the situation.”

                “By slapping me? What kind of messed-up logic do you have? I don’t even know your name, and you’re going off about –”

                The stranger held another hand up to silence Alfred, and much to the teenager’s displeasure, he actually sealed his lips and remained silent.

“My name does not matter. Not at this moment. I’m sure that you are very distressed to know that I’m real,” Alfred snorted and leaned away from the stranger with a roll of his eyes. “I am distressed myself to know that you are the chosen King, but that will not stop me from fulfilling my duty to my Kingdom.”

Alfred stepped back from the stranger, intent on denying what little bit of unbelievable information he was just presented. This man must have been some sort of insane tumor-invented psychopath. Duty? Kingdom? Those words were meant to be saved for Alfred’s videogames and comic books. Those words weren’t used in real life. Not in reality. Taking in a deep, shaking breath, Alfred stared at the stranger with wide eyes. It was real. The man, in all his astounding and capturing beauty, was real and standing in front of him. The slap that burned a hole in Alfred’s cheek was proof of this reality, and it was much too strange for a simple teenager to understand.

“No way,” Alfred looked at his door, absorbing the fact that somehow, in some way, magic had worked its way into his life. His father taught physics. His mother was a down-to-earth masseuse. Magic was only discussed in the relevant topic of superheroes and legends, and now it was very much alive and real, standing in front of him with a reserved expression. “No _way_.”

The man gave Alfred a pinched expression, bringing up his gloved right hand and smoothed his white shirt sleeve slowly. It was as if Alfred’s sour attitude had somehow manifested into physical wrinkles in the stranger’s shirt, and he was eager to somehow erase the evidence.

“Yes, I’m afraid that this is… ‘the way.’” Alfred stepped past the stranger and into the foreign room that was somehow linked to his own bedroom. The stranger watched him go, raising his eyebrows as Alfred shook his head and returned to his own bedroom, only to walk back through the doorway. “You’ll have to stay on one side, Alfred.”

The teenager turned his wide-eyed stare back to the stranger once more. “And then what? What happens when I stay on a side?”

“Then that’s it. You stay.”

“Oh. That’s it?” Alfred nodded to himself with a breathy laugh, hopping over the threshold into his own bedroom with an air of finality. “Then I’ll stay here. You can go back to wherever… _that_ is, and I’ll just stay here and act like this never even happened.” The stranger pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. Alfred gave the stranger a disbelieving stare. “No? Why ‘no’? Why _not_?”

With a broad sweep of his regal arm, the stranger put his left arm around Alfred’s shoulder and brought him back though the doorway with one swift push. Alfred didn’t have time to react as the man pulled the connecting door shut with a concluding slam.

“I said that you had to stay on one side, but I never said that you got to choose which side you were staying on.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide. “Are you _insane_? Are you really doing this?”

                The stranger spread his hands wide as if in surrender before moving into the night darkened room and standing next to the desk where Alfred had found him. His outline was illuminated by the sallow light of the lantern on the desk, and his blonde hair was a dull platinum with the added shine of the moonlight. Alfred turned to open the door back to his room only to see the doorway had disappeared. It was gone. As if it had never even existed, the door had become nothing but a blue wall in front of the teenager.

                “What the hell?” Alfred shouted as he turned back to the stranger with his breath catching in his throat. There was a heavy thudding in his ears, loud and fast like a bass drum. If Alfred hadn’t been so alarmed, he would’ve easily noticed that the sound was his own racing heartbeat. “What did you do?”

                “I haven’t done anything,” the stranger settled himself down into the plush chair that was at his desk. “You were simply meant to stay here.”

                “No, I don’t think so. I need to go home, I need to –”

                The stranger sat back in his chair with an unreadable expression. “This is your home, now.”

                “No. That’s not… that’s not even,” Alfred raked his fingers through his hair, grabbing at his own blonde hair and pulling until he could feel his scalp begin to burn. “This is crazy! The door was right here!”

                The stranger shook his head with a roll of his eyes and brushed off the top of his thigh before he crossed his legs smoothly. “Yes, the doorway was there. Now it isn’t. I commend you on your ability to state the obvious, young man.” Alfred found enough of his wits to glare at the stranger before the older man went on. “If you haven’t discerned the way you’ve come here, it was the card. The card was given to you by the hands of fate, and in turn, brought you to the place where you belong.”

The stranger gestured to the night darkened room. “This… this is the place you belong, Alfred. Sad as it is, this Kingdom is just shy one King. And you are the King we’ve been waiting for; and believe me, we’ve waited quite a long time. One hundred years, to be exact.” Alfred shook his head again, not willing to let himself be drowned in some sort of historical drama so easily. “Nonetheless, you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“No, I need to go home,” Alfred sputtered, stepping toward the Englishman and pointing to himself as if it would broadcast his distress. “I need to go back home. I’m not your King. I’m nineteen!”

The stranger waved his hand dismissively. “I became the Queen of Spades when I was only sixteen. Please, what are you really trying to say?”

“I want to go home!” Alfred shouted at the man, watching as he shrunk back into his chair and squinted at the din of raised voices. “I want to go back to my house with my parents and go to my school! I don’t belong here… I need to go back!”

For a moment, the room was quiet. Just quiet enough that the low snap of the oil lanterns’ flame could be heard under the heavy breathing of a very distressed nineteen year old boy. Neither of the men spoke. The brief break in conversation allowed the heavy mood in the room to settle around them, and in turn, allowed Alfred’s new reality to sink in.

“I can’t go back… can I?”

The stranger shook his head to and fro slowly, gauging Alfred’s reaction with a stern expression. “I’m afraid not. The card that you were given is your only way back. It should’ve released the seal to the door when we both stepped through and come to rest here in Spades, but it seems that it’s been lost, somewhere along the way.” Alfred felt his face grow warm his eyes began to burn with hot tears. The stranger tapped the top of this thighs with a solemn nod. “As of now, you are bound to this dimension until you can find the card that may take you home.”

Before he let himself collapse into an inconsolable fit of rage, Alfred let out several breaths, each one deeper than the rest. It was the end of his normal life, then. Alfred nodded to himself, trying to accept the fact that he was never going home.

“Okay…” Alfred nodded a few more times before turning up his eyes to meet the green irises of his captor. “All right. Who are you, then?”

The stranger gave a slight inclination of his head. “I am Arthur Kirkland, the Queen of Spades.”

“Great. Where’s the door?” Arthur’s light eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he lifted a hand to point at the door that was on the far left side of the room. Alfred nodded and gave a gruff “thanks” before marching over to the large door and proceeding to scream. “Let me out of here!” Alfred howled, slamming the palms of his hands against the rough grain of the oak door frame and screaming out his frustration. “Help! Please, someone!”

“You are fine,” Arthur rolled his eyes as he tried give platitudes to Alfred, leaning forward on his chair to fiddle absently with the pocket watch that hung drunkenly out of his pocket. Alfred swept his hands over the door for a lever or switch. “Honestly, it’s not as if I’m going to cook you and eat you.”

                Laughter came out of Alfred’s mouth, much too hysterical to calm him down or relieve his body from the tension of claustrophobic captivity. It was sinking into his bones, rattling his brain; he wasn’t going to go home. He was trapped. It was exciting to know that he had single-handedly discovered magic, but it was also terrifying to know that he’d never go back home. He turned, eyeing Arthur’s elegant, blue clad figure before rushing to the solid windows across the room and yanking at the latch.

“Alfred, Alfred… you know that it’s not going to open, don’t you? Spring has only just begun… the air is still much too cold to leave the windows open at this time of night,” Arthur called, pressing the small button at the top of his watch to admire the routine click of the second hand curling about the circumference of the watch. Ten minutes to eleven at night in Spades. Late, late, late... Arthur hated being late. Punctuality was a virtue. Alfred struggled with the latch on the window for another moment, taking in short, desperate breaths as he rounded the room and passed by Arthur to batter his fist against the door once more. Arthur squinted at the loudness of the racket, holding a white-gloved palm to his right ear as he clenched his teeth at the obnoxious young man.

“Please! Someone, anybody,” Alfred swallowed, taking a shaky breath as Arthur rolled his eyes slowly, “there’s been some sort of mistake! I’m not from here! I don’t think I’m your king!”

“Really? I hadn't caught that. Are you sure? You think I’d know my own king.”

                Arthur snapped his pocket watch shut, standing up fluidly to push it back into his pocket with a sharp smile. “Calm down, now. You’re alright.”

“No. No, I’m not.” Alfred held himself at a perpendicular angle to the British man, keeping the fingers of his left hand securely around the handle of the locked door, “I’m not okay! This is not okay! I still want to go home. You need to let me out of here!”

“In due time. But, seeing as we have time, I recommend you calm yourself before you collapse from lack of oxygen.”

Alfred fidgeted with the handle of the door, feeling it catch on the deadbolt and remain stubbornly locked as he swallowed large mouthfuls of air. He felt dizzy, but he was too angry to fall to the floor. His knees shook, but he refused to sit. He still wanted to go home.

“I’m really freaked out right now.”

“Yes,” Arthur said slowly with a sickly sweet smile, nodding at Alfred as if he’d just learned to read a very obvious sign that had been hanging in the room for several minutes. “Yes, I can see that. But, it’s alright now. Just calm down, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Alfred stood by the door awkwardly, wishing that he could go back home to his parents. He’d gladly call the contractor if it meant he’d get to stay home. He would cram to pass his biology final if that’s what it took. He’d do anything to not have a choice on the matter. Feeling his bottom lip tremble against the weight of his own frightened, heavy emotions, Alfred tried to state his request once more.

“I just… I want to go home.”

Arthur nodded in understanding before stepping toward Alfred with clipped, efficient steps. Alfred watched Arthur carefully as he approached, waiting for a knife to be pulled or a hatchet to come flying. None came. Arthur merely stopped a few liberal paces away, allowing Alfred enough space to feel safe enough to breathe.

“For the umpteenth time, boy… I hear you. You want to go home. I understand,” Arthur said slowly, as if Alfred was an old computer with processing problems. “But for now, why don’t you lie down and get some rest, Alfred? It’s late.”

Alfred shook his head. He wasn’t going to sleep. Not there. Not where it was unsafe and unknown territory. Arthur was a stranger, and no matter how attractive and regal he looked or behaved, he could not be trusted. Alfred’s mother and father had taught him well when it came to strangers, but this was a whole new level of strange that Alfred had to discover on his own.

“I’m not tired. I just got up for school. I ate breakfast!”

When Arthur made no move to accept his story, Alfred sighed and leaned back against the oak door. He wasn’t physically tired, but he could safely say that he was emotionally. In twenty easy minutes, his entire life – let alone his existence on Earth – had changed. Science and reason had been thrown out the window to introduce the newer, more exciting topics of magic and alternate dimensions. Alfred’s definition of “reality” had changed from fact to fiction, leaving only his worn out thoughts to repeat themselves. He wanted to go home. Back to his parents, and back to his regular, non-magic life. He didn’t _really_ want to be a king. He wouldn’t know the first thing about being a king.

                Blinking slowly, Alfred gave Arthur a sad nod of his head. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little tired. Where do I sleep?”

                “Here,” Arthur indicated to the room with a wide sweep of his arm. “This is the master suite, built especially for the King and Queen of Spades.”

                Alfred made a face. “Oh. So you’re going to be here –”

                “No. I have my own separate bedroom. I will be sleeping there.”

                “Right. So –”

                Arthur waved Alfred away from the door, walking over to the side of the room where a large bed was situated in the far corner. “As I said, it’s late; you should rest. When you wake in the morning, we shall have much more to discuss. There’s no use trying to communicate with a sleep-addled brain.”

                Alfred squinted at the sapphire blue canvas that was his bed, struggling to understand that he was really going to sleep in the large king-sized bed alone. It was a beautiful bed, to say the least. It was beautiful just like everything else in the room… the flowers, the tables, the desk… Arthur. Reminding himself that Arthur was still in the room, Alfred turned just in time to see Arthur open the door to the bedroom without any key. Arthur casted a weary glance at Alfred over his shoulder before he left.

                “Goodnight, Alfred. I do hope that you’ll be more reasonable in the morning.”

                “But… wait!” Alfred called rushing for the door, and only stopping when Arthur froze mid-stride out the door. “So, I’m just supposed to stay here by myself until morning?”

                Arthur quirked an eyebrow and looked Alfred up and down slowly. “Are you used to sleeping with company, boy?”

                “No, no… I just –”

                “You’ll be just fine, then,” Arthur nodded finally, pulling the door shut behind himself with one last, “Goodnight.”

And just like that, Alfred was left in the room alone. He was alone in the dark with nothing but the sad, wobbling flame of his oil lamp to keep him company. He wouldn’t let that flame die as long as he was awake. If it died, he’d be left alone with nothing else to focus on, leaving him alone with something much worse than just darkness: homesickness.


	2. Salutare

                Morning can come in a variety of ways to the world. It can come quickly, buried under a need to have the night last as long as possible. Being avoided for so long, the morning swallows up what little night-time was left for the night-loving people of the world, ripping away whatever warm, content night that they had once possessed. Or, morning can come slowly, creeping through the lingering hours of a starry-skied midnight. Those nights can last far too long, and the prolonged hours can make anyone doubt the sanity of their sleepy clock. In the end, slow or fast, the morning comes, and with it, it brings the sunlight with it.

                For Alfred, his night had dragged on for an eternity. Alfred watched the sun rise over the dark line of a foreign landscape, seeing the sunlight ripple over a tree line before dripping into the rest of the world. He had searched for the card that could bring him home through the night, turning over tables and ripping apart the room until it looked like a tornado had torn through the room. No such luck had delivered the card to him. In the end, he had collapsed onto the bed in a frustrated huff, giving into his fatigue. More than once, he had wandered to the unlocked door, opening it and peering out into the inky blackness that was the hallway. There was no light to be found, let alone any person that Alfred could ask for help.

                So he waited in the darkness. Turning the knob on his oil lamp and watching as the flame flickered and danced before his eyes, he wandered about the room aimlessly until he came to sit in front of his window. It was a long night in his point of view; it dragged on forever while he wanted to see the sun rise over the horizon. But when the sun finally decided to grace the world with its presence, he was sitting atop a mound of blankets that he’d thrown off of the bed in his frustration. He didn’t quite know if he was waiting for someone to come and find him in the room or waiting for sunlight to illuminate the building and make it easier for him to find his own way out. He just didn’t want to find himself lost with no one to turn to for help.

                As the door to his new bedroom was knocked on, Alfred jumped on his place atop the blankets, turning his back to the windows to face the door. It was very early. The sun had only been up for a small amount of time. Was it Arthur?

                Alfred licked his lips and called out a hesitant, “Arthur?” before pressing his lips together and waiting for a response. The answer was not what Alfred expected. It was not Arthur’s smooth British accent but a rougher, grainier version of British English.

                “I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” the voice called back to Alfred evenly and clearly. And with that voice, came the turning of the doorknob, and the entrance of a young man into the room. He certainly wasn’t Arthur. First, he was much too young. He had to be twelve years, tops. Second, he had sandy brown hair that was combed off to the side, and eyes that hid their color by watching the floor carefully as he entered the room. Nope. Not Arthur. Without offering his name, he gave a small bow at the waist and scuttled off to the far side of the room to place his armful of fabric on a table. “I’m here to tell you that the queen will be waiting for you near the garden.”

                “Cool,” Alfred replied numbly, sitting atop his bed while the young man in his room started sorting out the different fabrics into different piles. “So who are you? My personal butler?”

                The brunette turned to look at Alfred with a vaguely confused expression, slinging one white piece of fabric over his arm before giving another stiff bow. “I’m simply a palace worker, Your Highness.”

                Alfred made a face. “’Your highness?’”

                The boy nodded, pulling a piece of smooth, indigo hued fabric from a pile to place it over his arm. He walked over to a large wardrobe on the far side of the room while he spoke, not bothering to look at Alfred while he moved about the room. “Yes, Your Highness. You are the future King of Spades, and thus, I will treat you accordingly.”

                “Oh,” Alfred grumbled, not quite happy about this development. “That’s great. So, what’re you doing in my room?”

                “I’ve brought your clothes to you, Your Majesty.”

                Alfred looked down at his sweatshirt that had been washed only yesterday and his pants that he’d only worn twice that week. It was a perfectly respectable ensemble in his mind, but when he got a good look at the palace worker, he noted that it wasn’t really in fashion to wear either articles of clothing. The boy in his room was wearing white trousers that came to an end just below his knees, accented by small brass button along the sides of his legs. Gleaming white socks covered the rest of his legs, and his torso was contained by a billowing white shirt that reminded Alfred of pictures he would find in a Civil War textbook. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alfred slipped out of bed and wandered over to the wardrobe slowly.

                “What’s your name, then?”

                With a smile from the boy, Alfred stepped back to let him hand another article of clothing in the wardrobe. “I’m Fredrick, Your Majesty. If I am in your way, please let me know.”

                Alfred nodded quickly, peeking into the storage place for his clothing while Fredrick moved back to his mounds of neatly folded fabrics. “Can I just pick whatever?” Alfred asked, quirking his eyebrow at the sight of far too little color options. Much of it was blue, silver, or white, leaving him with the same three bland options no matter what he chose to wear. Fredrick hummed some sort of agreement quietly, and Alfred plucked a loose-looking white shirt from one of the hangers. A pair of grey trousers came next, and Alfred suspected that they might be just as form fitting as the trousers he’d seen Arthur wear last night. Trying not to think of Arthur impressive physique, Alfred moved aside for Fredrick and set out to find a private place to change his clothes. While Alfred meandered over to a doorway on the far side of the room – which he had discovered last night was the bathroom – he spoke over his shoulder to Fredrick.

                “Where did you say Arthur was waiting for me?” Alfred dropped the clothes atop the marble counter that held the smooth, oval basin for washing his hands and face.

                “On the terrace by the garden, Your Highness.” Fredrick called back.

                Alfred held up the white shirt, inspecting it from top to bottom and not deciding where exactly the collar was. It could’ve been on either end. On one side, there were ties and could potentially be there to hold the top of the shirt… but, they could also be strings that pulled the shirt taut around his waist, like the ties of an apron. Tilting his head to the side, Alfred turned the shirt over once more, trying to discern the proper way it had faced when he picked it up. The side that had the sleeves at the top had to be right. Alfred nodded to himself as he dropped the shirt on the counter and began to peel away his sweatshirt and the t-shirt beneath it. Arthur would be waiting for him… by the garden. Alfred paused and pushed the door to the bathroom open wide enough that he could lean out the doorway and look at Fredrick. The palace worker lift his eyes from a pile of trousers and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

                “Hey… Um… where’s the garden?”

+++++

                Alfred stumbled down the stairs that Fredrick had directed him to, not wasting any time as he rounded a left turn at a jogging pace. The trousers were stiff and the shirt hung loosely around his arms and waist, but he didn’t want to stop walking to fix anything or scratch at any stubborn fabric. If he stopped, he’d forget the directions that would ultimately lead him to Arthur.

                “It’s quite simple,” Fredrick had said with a smooth smile, motioning with his hands as he described certain turns. “When you leave this master bedroom, you go to your right. You follow this corridor until you reach the stairs, which will be on your left. As soon as you descend the stairs, there will be three different hallways. One forward, one to the left, and one to the right. You chose the corridor to your immediate right, and…”

                And what? Alfred stopped jogging long enough to look around at his surroundings. There was a potted plant at the corner, but that wasn’t nearly grand enough to be a real garden. And he’d already passed about three different hallways on his way. Did he miss a turn? He couldn’t remember what Fredrick had said to do next, so how was he supposed to find Arthur? With a frustrated and slightly frightened twitch of his lips, Alfred did the only thing that came to mind: call for help.

                “Arthur!” Alfred held his breath as his voice echoed down two different halls, but no voice called back to him. It was a dumb idea, calling for Arthur the way that he was, but he didn’t see any other people meandering around the palace. So he waited for a response, looking down the several halls around him. There was shuffling and the indefinite murmur of strange voices, but no real response. Alfred took a deep breath and tried again, this time a bit louder. “Arthur! Where are you?”

                With the audible thud of footsteps, it was clear that someone had heard his pleas. So he stood in his spot, glancing out in different directions and seeing several silhouettes of strangers moving through the hallways. Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, swayed from side to side, and rocked back on his heels while he waited, listening to the uniform snaps of shoes on polished, marble floors.

                “For heaven’s sake.”

Alfred’s ears perked up at the sound of the first voice he had heard in the Kingdom of Spades. The crisp, British accent echoed off of the walls of the palace, coming to Alfred from a variety of directions, but the American could easily tell that Arthur was coming towards him. Alfred smiled. There was no need for him to move from his place. Glancing down at his starch-stiff trousers to make sure he hadn’t somehow damaged the grey fabric, Alfred patted a hand over the front of his thin, puffy shirt and called for the Queen of Spades once more.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming. No need to shout.”

Alfred’s smile widened as Arthur’s voice became louder. “I’m not shouting.”

“If I can hear you in the garden with that raucous voice of yours,” Arthur said pointedly as he rounded the corner and gave Alfred a sharp stare. “Then you are indeed…” Arthur’s words slowed to a sluggish crawl, and Alfred watched the man’s green eyes look him up and down carefully. A smug smile came to his lips. Arthur cleared his throat and continued.  “You were, in fact, shouting.”

Pursing his lips and glancing down at his new clothing anxiously, Alfred looked from Arthur’s immaculate presentation to his own limp, lackluster style. Arthur wore a shirt with billowing sleeves just as he had, but the end of it was tucked away smoothly in his trousers. A black, velvet vest held the shirt captive, and the color melted in nicely with the matching trousers and boots. All in all, Alfred could only suppose that this was the closest thing he would ever see to a “little black dress” in Spades. It was perfect on Arthur. It made him look even more graceful than he normally did, and the commanding way he stood in front of Alfred made the boy feel much younger and immature. Alfred felt himself blush, but he didn’t allow himself to really acknowledge it as Arthur blinked and shied his gaze away.

“What?” Alfred questioned, watching as Arthur’s pale lips parted around a reply only to rethink it and seal his lips together once more. It was frustrating. He must have done something stupid. Aside from the obvious action of screaming in the palace, of course. It was probably his clothing, given the fact that he wasn’t as nicely put together as Arthur. “Is it my clothes? Okay. You have to cut me some slack here. I’m nice enough to go along with all of your ‘new clothes’ crap and whatever, but I’m not perfect.”

Arthur nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip to avoid giving away a smile. With that barely muffled smile, he chose to step forward and reached his hands out to Alfred’s collar, taking up the drawstrings along the open v-neck and lacing them together. “I do not expect you to be perfect, Alfred. No one is ever perfect. Move your hands, if you would.” Alfred lifted up his arms, and Arthur pulled at the hem of his shirt just enough to smooth out the bunched-up fabric around his shoulders before speaking. “As I said, I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you to know how to tuck the end of your shirt into your trousers.” When Alfred didn’t move to tuck in his shirt, Arthur raised his eyebrows and tugged on the hem of the shirt once more. “Tuck in your shirt, Alfred.”

Blinking several times to break up the image of Arthur giving him a rather annoyed stare, Alfred nodded and began to push the end of the shirt into his trousers. Arthur he gave a nod of approval and turned on his heel and started down the hallway that he’d come from, speaking as he went. Alfred swallowed. Alfred’s feet moved on their own accordance, trailing after Arthur as Alfred struggled to keep the fabric of his shirt bunching up in his grey trousers.

“From now on, I will expect to be seeing you with a proper vest over that shirt of yours. I will accept the attire today, but you must understand there are rules for what is proper clothing and what is…” Arthur glanced at Alfred over his shoulder briefly, “not suitable for company. That being said, only the palace workers will see you today, given that you only came to us last night.”

Alfred looked down at his trousers to assure everything looked smooth and not in any way bulging, and then trotted to keep up with Arthur’s quick steps. “Right, about that…”

Arthur turned a corner, and Alfred stumbled to keep up. “I wasn’t finished, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded. “Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s better, but only because it is _me_ that you’re talking to… if you interrupt anyone else to say something important, you will not apologize. You are the soon-to-be King of Spades. You do not owe any apologies.”

Alfred smiled at the thought. “I don’t owe anyone apologies… except for you?”

“Precisely. Very good, lad.” As Arthur neared a glass doorway, Alfred slowed his gate just enough to admire the room that they had entered. Silver and gold dripped from the ceiling, but Alfred had a feeling that it was merely decorative paint, and not real metal. Arthur came to a halt when he saw Alfred looking about the room, and lifted his eyes to the walls. “Do you see something you like, boy?”

“Yeah. It’s beautiful here.”

“Yes,” Arthur said sharply, gaining Alfred’s attention. “It is ‘yes’ not ‘yeah.’ Such gauche terms will be kept out of your vocabulary. Do you understand?” Alfred gave a disgruntled nod, and Arthur raised a skeptical eyebrow. “This room is mainly used for visiting ambassadors and royalty to relax and have a cup of tea. The gold painting on the trim of the walls gives a sense of warmth, and the silver inspires a cool state of mind.”

“Wow,” Alfred smiled, looking around at the large room. Was it only for having tea? It seemed like it could easily fit one hundred people in the room and still have space left for the table and teakettle. “They just come here to relax?”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his upper arms with his free fingers. “Well, more often than not. Many things occur when said visitors come. They could be here for a variety of reasons, but the majority of visits happen when there are important business topics to discuss. These conversations and negotiations can become tense and sometimes heated, leading to a need of space and relaxation.”

“‘Business topics?’” Alfred pressed, glancing over at Arthur from his place under a grand chandelier. Visitors from foreign places sounded nice, considering the only visitors he’d ever seen from far-away places were his aunt and uncle from Canada, and their son, Matthew.

                “Yes,” Arthur said in a low tone, drumming his fingers against his arm impatiently. “Business topics such as imports and exports through certain kingdoms, treaties that pertain to kingdoms that are visiting or otherwise, and the different traditions and invitations that come along with the Card Kingdoms. All of this is very interesting, but it’d be much more interesting if I could have my morning tea. Shall we go to the terrace now?”

                “Sure,” Alfred strolled behind the Queen at a lax pace, glancing up at the ornate, metal archway over the glass doorway. “It’s just all really new to me. It’s kinda… weird. I mean, sure, this is really cool and everything, but it’s totally different. It’ll be a neat story to tell when I go home.”

                Arthur paused and looked back at Alfred with the mention of “home,” but made no move to comment on the subject. He merely gave Alfred a long, hard look before he promptly turned on his heel and stepped out of the palace and into the garden.

                When Alfred walked through the doorway in pursuit of Arthur, he found himself lost in yet another new world. There were flowers of every color and shape around him, from recognizable roses to foreign flora that resembled melting diamonds. Shimmering flowers sat snugly in bushes and hung from trees, presenting their open petals to the morning sunlight and glistening with dew still fresh from the cool evening before. If Alfred hadn’t glanced back at the doorway he’d just gone through, he would’ve safely assumed that he was in some sort of nature preserve. A smooth, stone walkway guided Arthur and Alfred through the lush garden, safely shaded by large canopy leaves above them and adorned by the fresh scents of flowers nestled close to the dirt.

                “This is the garden, right?” Alfred asked quietly as Arthur reached out a gloved hand to absently push a large umbrella-shaped leaf out of their way as it stuck out in the pathway. Arthur cast a weary glance at the American boy, then nodded once. “It’s amazing. There’s so much… I’ve never seen a lot of these flowers.”

                 The Queen nodded again as they approached a marble-pillared terrace, motioning with a gesture of his hand that Alfred was to sit at the left side of the table. Alfred obeyed silently, taking a seat in a comfortably cushioned chair while Arthur took his place across from him. China plates sat on the table, one for Arthur and one for Alfred. There were different plates of fruit and bread at the table, and a teapot that sat patiently to be used with steam pouring out of the spout. Arthur pulled his chair closer to the table and reached for the teapot, giving Alfred a considering stare.

                “Tea?”  He asked politely, motioning to the cup that was perched amid a fragile saucer in front of the boy.

                Alfred shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t like tea.”

                “Odd,” Arthur commented lowly, bringing up the teapot and tipping the contents into his own cup. “I haven’t met many people who don’t like tea. Then again…” Arthur put the teapot back in the center of their small table. “I haven’t met many people like you.” Shrugging loosely, Alfred stayed quiet as Arthur sat in his chair and took a sip of tea with a look of contentment on his porcelain face. “Now then… I’m sure you have many questions to ask, and I am more than ready to answer them.”

                Alfred nodded quickly, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table as he spoke, “Yeah, I just want to know about this whole… ‘King of Spades’ thing.” Arthur raised an eyebrow skeptically, and Alfred rushed to continue. “I’m not saying this place isn’t great, I’m just saying, um…” Alfred searched for the correct words while Arthur crossed his legs. “I’m not going to stay here. I’m going home, eventually. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

                Arthur looked thoroughly unimpressed as he set his teacup on the table slowly. “Oh? Is that so?”

                “Yeah,” Alfred paused, and then corrected himself. “I mean ‘yes.’ Anyway, what I’m trying to say is… I can’t find the card. You said that was my way home, and I can’t find it. Where did it go?”

                “Normally, the card doesn’t go far from the place that leads a king, queen, or jack to the palace,” Arthur brushed off the top of his black-clad, thigh. “And, as I’ve noted, you can’t find it. Well, no one and nothing stays lost forever, mind you.” Arthur looked over at Alfred through a fan of honey-colored eyelashes. “I’m sure that with time, you’ll find it.”

                Alfred gave a humorless huff of laughter, pushing himself away from the table to lean back in his chair haughtily. “You make it sound like it’ll take me a while to find it.”

                “I said no such thing.”

                “But I bet you were thinking it,” Alfred said with a point of his finger in Arthur’s direction. The Queen of Spades merely brought up his teacup once more and took a casual drink while Alfred glared at him. “You know where it is, don’t you?”

                Arthur raised his eyebrows and lowered his teacup. “I beg your pardon?”

                Alfred leaned forward in his chair again, narrowing his eyes at Arthur’s offended expression. “You know. I can’t tell. Where is it? Do you have it?”

                “This is preposterous, Alfred.” Arthur’s sea-foam green eyes flashed a heated jade as he watched Alfred carefully over the table. “I do not have your card. It’s most likely hidden somewhere in the castle. It couldn’t have gone too far.”

                Alfred pushed his chair back and stood up, pressing the palms of his hands against the table and leaning his weight into it. Arthur looked unmoved by the gesture. “’Hidden?’ By you? Come on, Arthur! I’m not a king! I can’t stay here. I want to go home, so give me the card, and I’ll be on my merry way!”

                “Do _not_ use that aggressive tone with me,” Arthur warned, uncrossing his legs and crossing them the opposite way, left over right. His hands tapped the arms of his chair impatiently, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Alfred’s tense form. “Now, you will sit down and have an agreeable conversation like the gentlemen I will graciously assume you to be.”

                Alfred scoffed and shook his head. “But –”

                “ _Sit_ ,” Arthur demanded with a hiss, “ _down._ ”

                The tone of Arthur’s voice made Alfred feel nervous and sick to his stomach. Listening to his voice was like watching his math teacher hand out their final calculus test. He didn’t want to see what Arthur did if he failed this test, so he pulled his chair back up to the table, and slowly sat down.

                Arthur’s anger-clouded eyes cleared almost immediately, and he took a deep, relaxing breath. “There now. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Alfred grumbled his displeasure with Arthur under his breath while the queen smoothed a hand over the lace tablecloth. “I understand that you’re frustrated. Any sane person would be. To be taken from your home and be placed in a new reality can be… troubling. Especially for a boy your age.” Arthur said with a melancholy smile, tapping the top of table with an air of finality. “Nonetheless, you are here in Spades for an unknown amount of time, and because you are here, you are the King. I expect you to act like one.”

                Alfred snorted obnoxiously with a roll of his eyes, and Arthur’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t know anything about being a king.”

                “Luck you, you have an expert in royal affairs and manners sitting in front of you.”

                Alfred’s heart jumped up into his throat. How could he just start a new life and forget his entire family and all of his friends? “I… I could find my card today. Or tomorrow.”

                “Or in three days, or three weeks,” Arthur nodded slowly, bringing his teacup up from the table. “Regardless of _when_ you find it, I expect you to behave correctly until you _do_ find it.”

                Alfred scrambled for a solution, shifting in his chair nervously as he spoke. “I’ll find someone to help me. I’ll get Fredrick to help me.”

                “You’ll need quite a bit of help, Alfred,” Arthur responded smoothly, licking his lips and pulling the teapot towards his place at the table to pour himself another cup. “The magic of Spades is quite mischievous. You can search for it as much as you like, but until you truly understand the flow of magic in Spades, you will have a difficult time finding it solely based on luck.”

                With a frustrated huff, Alfred leaned back in his chair. “How do I understand the magic of Spades?”

                “The simplest way to understand it would be to become the King of Spades,” Arthur took a drink of his fresh tea, made a face, and reached for a small bowl of sugar. “A king, queen, or jack of any kingdom can feel the flow of energy as well as the flow of the people in the borders of the land, given enough time.”

                “How much time?” Alfred growled more than he asked, but Arthur didn’t acknowledge it.

                “Oh, that can depend on the person. To truly become one with your throne is to truly comprehend what you and your throne stand for.” After he took another sip of tea, Arthur held his saucer close to the cup when he smiled at Alfred. “Either way, I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay here until you either find the card or somehow magically force your way out of this dimension.”

                Alfred ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth, watching the cool way Arthur sat back in his chair and tapped his finger against the side of his cup. No matter which way he looked at it, the best way to get home was to learn how to be the King of Spades. Arthur would be with him every step of the way, so there was at least one good thing to be gained from the process. When Alfred allowed a smile to come to his lips, Arthur readily reciprocated the expression.

                “So, you’ll teach me everything I need to know?”

                “Of course,” Arthur nodded. “It’s tradition for the future King or Queen to be taught the ways of the kingdom before their coronation.”

                Alfred felt his expression droop. “’Coronation?’”

                “Yes. A coronation. The ceremony in which you are crowned King of Spades.”

                “Yeah, I got that.” Alfred responded hollowly, gaining a bored expression from Arthur. “I mean, ‘yes, I got that.’”

                “Much better.” Arthur approved with a sip of tea.

                With a sigh, Alfred reached across the table for the plate covered with thick slices of bread. A dish of thick butter sat next to it, and Alfred didn’t spare any excess when he slathered an unhealthy amount of it onto his bread. Alfred could feel Arthur’s eyes on him, and when he glanced up at the Queen, he saw an amused smile playing on his pale lips. Arthur thought the he was going to be around long enough to be crowned king. That meant something, didn’t it?

                “Arthur, when does that coronation thing happen?”

                 “’That coronation _thing_ ’ will occur in three weeks. In that time, I will teach you many different things you’ll need to know. Manners, traditions, geography and history of Spades, and most importantly, diction.”

                Alfred put down his bread and gave Arthur a nervous smile. “Three weeks? I have to learn everything in three weeks?”

                “Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred. There are far too many things you need to know to learn all of it before your coronation. I’ll be teaching you even after your coronation.” The way Arthur said those words made Alfred nervous, but the smile that accompanied the statement was just sly enough to make Alfred feel more amused than nervous. “I do hope you’re ready, Alfred. There are many things to learn before your coronation and I do not like to waste time.”


	3. Denuntiatio

                When Alfred was four-years-old, he decided that he was going to fly. He would have grand and powerful wings, and he would soar like a bird over the world below. When he was seven-years-old, he discovered that the idea of flying was obsolete, and instead he would run faster than the speed of light. He wanted to run around the world and see every great sight there was, and in the end, he would bring a souvenir from each place back to his parents. When that plan failed at the age of thirteen, he decided to be a sports superstar. He would be famous for his endeavors, and no matter where he turned, someone would scream his name. At his current age of nineteen, he was finally conquering every dream at once.

                “Morning, Fredrick!” Alfred shouted as he ran for the stairs and struggled to button his silver vest. He was flying, in some sense. There were not any wings, and he wasn’t ten thousand feet in the air, but he was flying over the ground nonetheless. Fredrick looked up from the table that he’d been dusting just long enough to smile at the soon-to-be King.

                “Good morning, Your Highness,” he responded brightly, watching Alfred stumble to a slower pace as he descended the stairs. “Don’t forget to tuck in your shirt!”

                “Got it!” Alfred called over his shoulder, finishing the buttons on his vest and moving to shove the end of his shirt into his trousers. He wasn’t exceeding the speed of light or sound, but he was definitely racing toward a goal. That could be called a success. Alfred rounded the corner and nearly barreled over a stout, dark-skinned woman who proceeded to shout, “Your Majesty!”

                So people were certainly shouting his name wherever he went. Whether or not they were achieved through the methods he had dreamed of when he was younger, Alfred was reaching his goals. It was surprising what only a week in Spades had done for him. Arthur was teaching him geography, diction, and etiquette in the morning, and the later bits of the afternoon were spent on less taxing lessons, such as interesting stories of Spades’ history. Though he didn’t get to sleep in as often as he wanted, he was definitely enjoying the time spent with Arthur. That was, when Arthur wasn’t rambling on about how terrible his manners were.

                “Sorry, Annie,” Alfred huffed, holding the shocked woman by her shoulders while she stared wide-eyed at future king in socked surprise. This momentary pause took valuable time away from Alfred’s running time. Giving Annie one last pat on the shoulder, Alfred flashed the palace worker a warm smile. “I need to go. Arthur’s going to be so mad at me!”

                “Hurry, hurry…” Annie responded shakily, waving the boy away while she took a calming breath.

                Alfred rushed through the gold and silver room pleasantly named “The Sitting Room” and out onto the garden paths. His riding boots gripped the smooth, stone walkway, and when he took a sharp turn toward the terrace, he nearly found himself embracing the flowerbeds face first. One palace worker in a wide-brimmed, straw hat – Alfred was still learning names, but he suspected it to be Gerome with the bright orange hair that poked out from under the hat – was kneeling at the edge of the path, pulling at the weeds nestled around the flowers. Alfred could see Arthur just beyond the worker, waiting in the terrace with a cup of tea in hand, and he had no time to lose.

                “Don’t get up!” Alfred shouted at the worker, watching as they flinched at the command and pushed their hat up to cast their wide brown eyes at the upcoming king. It wasn’t Gerome, but Gracia. Her pale, freckled face contorted in a look of utter horror as Alfred continued towards her, not losing speed. By reflex, she ducked her head and squeaked in alarm as Alfred kept coming. A flash of orange flickered in front of Alfred’s vision as he dug his heel into the stone pathway and pushed himself up and through the air. Finally, after fifteen years of giving up on the idea of flying, Alfred was doing the impossible. Well, at least it was for a moment. It ended abruptly when his feet hit the pavement at an odd angle causing him to stumble forward for a few steps. He was off running again before Gracia could say anything, and when he reached the terrace, he fell into his chair, gasping for breath. Immediately he asked, “Did I make it?”

                Arthur looked up from the pocket watch he had sitting in his right hand, smiling at Alfred easily. “Good morning, Alfred.”

                “Did I make it?” Alfred asked again, still gasping for breath.

                Arthur snapped his watch shut and tucked it away in the small pocket of his vest, taking a sip from the teacup he had in his left hand. “I do hope that you slept well,”

                “Arthur,” Alfred gasped, reaching across the table to grab his glass of water and take a drink. “Did I make it?”

                After swallowing another mouthful of tea, Arthur raised his eyebrows and put his teacup down on the table. “Three minutes late, Alfred.” He winced at the statement, and Arthur continued with a knowing smile, “At least you enjoy your morning commute to the breakfast table. Again, breakfast begins at eight o’clock, and punctuality is a good virtue to have.”

                “Damn it!” Alfred growled as he put his cup down. He had raced to the table that morning. Granted, getting up five minutes to eight was not the smartest move. He glanced up at Arthur, who was watching with a mildly amused expression. “Sorry.”

                “Thank you. Vulgarities are not accepted at any dining table.”

                “Right… I was just so _close_ this time,” Alfred sputtered in a frustrated manner, reaching for a large bowl that held sliced melon. “I’ll be on time tomorrow, I swear.”

                “I’ll hold you to that,” Arthur said in response, standing up and taking the water pitcher up to fill Alfred’s half-empty glass.

                It was their daily routine: Alfred rushed to make it to breakfast on time, Arthur would count how many minutes he was late, and they would eat breakfast before their lessons. Alfred mused that it was somewhat like regular school. The rush to be on time, the heart-pounding relief when the teacher allows the slip-up, and the relaxation that comes with daydreaming during class. Of course Alfred knew that he shouldn’t daydream while Arthur was teaching him the history of a kingdom he was supposed to lead, but when Arthur turned his back to Alfred to write something of a large pad of paper, Alfred couldn’t help but appreciate the curves along the Queen’s back. From the turn of his thin shoulders under his shirt, to the long line of his back, and all the way down to the smooth curve of his butt that was accentuated by his form-fitting trousers. It was exponentially better than staring at a book all day long.

                The classes were supposed to be a learning process for Alfred, yet he couldn’t help but be attracted to the person in front of him. Arthur was like some sort of magnet, and Alfred was a far too enthusiastic piece of metal that was more than happy to be drawn forward.

                “There is a bond that will form between the King and Queen of any Card Kingdom,” Arthur had explained one rainy day, tapping the pad of paper that held a drawing of two crowns. “It is called ‘The Bond of Ages,’ and it is more powerful than any kind of magic.”

                “So, it’s like a ‘love at first sight’ thing.” Alfred had said slowly, pursing his lips and studiously keeping his eyes on the paper while Arthur pivoted his hips and sighed.

                “That isn’t what I said, Alfred. It’s a bond. True it is more than natural for the King and Queen to be drawn together like you speak of, but _that_ kind of attraction normally occurs after both parties are crowned.” Arthur drew an arrow between the two crowns. “While the bond between King and Queen is strong without any crowns or rings to bind them, it grows stronger when the two are actually crowned.”

                Alfred slapped his hand on the table with a wide smile. “And _then_ we’ll fall in love.”

                There was a clap of thunder that shook the walls of the study, and a flicker of lightning that made the oil lamps shiver with shame, but Arthur didn’t react. “I am not amused by your tomfoolery, Alfred. This is a serious matter.”

                “I’m being serious. Super serious. I’ll be crowned King of Spades or whatever, and you’ll be on me like a hive of bees on a stick o’ honey.”

                Arthur had set down the quill pen he’d been writing with an exasperated expression, throwing his arms into the air and shaking his head. “I simply cannot teach you when you refuse to take these facts and traditions seriously!”

                And that was when the lesson had ended. Alfred had tried to fix it, trying to soothe Arthur with the fact that he was only joking about everything, but the idea of joking had made Arthur even angrier. Alfred was sent away to help Yao, the castle’s best and only scribe, reorganize the books of the main library. It was later revealed to Alfred that Yao was the Jack of Spades, the right-hand man of Spades royalty, and the expert on all royal conventions and expectations, second only to Arthur. Alfred was intimidated by the man, but that didn’t stop him from asking about his life in Spades. As they spoke about the differences between the world that contained Spades and Earth, Alfred began to realize that Yao’s dark eyes held wondrous memories, and his thin lips easily recalled stories of an ancient past. Although he couldn’t quite remember the way back to the library, Alfred certainly wouldn’t mind going to see him again.

                All new friends aside, Alfred wanted to know more about his supposed “bond” with Arthur. As he stabbed his fork into a piece of melon and popped it into his mouth, Alfred watched as Arthur placed the cold water pitcher back in its original spot and sat down. It had been several days since that lesson. His coronation was coming up fast, and there were only ten precious days left until he was sentenced to a life in Spades.

                “Hey, Arthur?” Alfred said through a mouthful of melon, earning a sharp look from Arthur until he finished chewing and swallowed. He tried again. “Can I ask you a question?”

                “Of course you _can_ ,” Arthur said haughtily, taking up his teacup once more. “But that only raises the separate question of _will_ you ask me a question.”

                It was a classic teacher or dad joke, but Alfred didn’t feel much in the mood for laughing at Arthur’s expense. He’d probably get lectured for doing so. Instead, he tapped the edge of his fork on his plate and watched Arthur’s green eyes carefully.

                “A few days ago you told me about a bond.”

                Arthur’s amused smile melted down into a straight, serious line. “The Bond of Ages, Alfred.”

                “Right, Bond of Ages. Anyway, I made a few jokes, and you got really mad –”

                “I can recall Thursday afternoon perfectly well, Alfred.”

                “Great, great…” Alfred licked his lips and pushed another smile onto his face. “You were telling me about the bond and how it works, and I know I messed stuff up, but I want to know. You know, like, how everything works. With the crowns and the stronger bonds.”

                With pursed lips, Arthur set down his teacup and started to drum his fingers against his sapphire-clothed thigh. “Well, I’m not normally very accommodating to those who disregard the historical values of Spades so flippantly.”

                Alfred speared another light green piece of melon and slid it across his plate as Arthur gave him an unimpressed expression. “Yeah,” Alfred started to explain himself, only to get a pinched expression from Arthur. “I meant ‘yes.’ I mean, I know that I made some jokes and that really ticked you off, but I want to learn. That has to count for something, right?”

                Taking in a deep breath, Arthur nodded at Alfred slowly and sat up taller in his chair before he cleared his throat. “The crowns given to each ruler bring out the qualities of the King and Queen were decided by the founders of the Card Kingdoms many centuries ago.” Arthur took a spoonful of sugar and tapped it into his teacup delicately before he continued. “The qualities for the Queen of Spades include leadership, knowledge of the people, and an affinity to magic. The qualities for the King of Spades are strength, guidance, and cunning.”

                Alfred made a face. “It sounds like you get more than me.”

                Arthur took a drink of tea, licked his lips, and then reached for the small cup of cream next to his plate. “What I ‘get’ is for the good of the kingdom, Alfred. I pray that you keep that in mind. That aside, the King and Queen are chosen by fate because of their specific affinity to the crowns and the people of their kingdoms. Naturally, these chosen Kings and Queens are born with their given attributes resting within their souls. It’s not a matter of receiving power from the crown, it’s more of a strengthening of the skills you already possess.”

                “So, you’re saying… you already knew how to use magic?”

                Arthur smiled at the question, and Alfred almost heard a huff of laughter escape the Queen’s pale lips. “Oh, Alfred… there is magic in the air here. Spades is a kingdom of magic and strength. Before I was Queen, I didn’t know how to harness the ability of magic, but I was very aware of its presence in my everyday life.”

                Alfred chewed a piece of sweet melon with a smile on his face, imagining a younger Arthur seeing strange things around him and no one believing him. Maybe fairies in the trees or trolls on the stairs had made themselves known to the young boy of Spades. It made Alfred wonder if Arthur had ever asked anyone what to do with them, and anyone or everyone had thought he’d gone insane.

                “Did anyone believe you about the magic?” Alfred wondered aloud before he began to chew another piece of melon.

                “Oh, I’m sure that some of them merely wanted to humor me, but the vast majority of people that I spoke to thought I was simply imagining things, as young children do.” Alfred shrugged loosely as he swallowed his mouthful of melon and proceeded to pick at the few remaining pieces on the fruit bowl while Arthur pursed his lips. “Did you not believe in magic as a child?”

                Alfred held his fork just inches from his lips as he thought of his childhood. His parents had condoned his love of superheroes as well as their powers, but he couldn’t really recall any true love of simple magic. Magicians had come to large school functions and a few of his father’s college parties, but Alfred hadn’t particularly believed in it. He was raised to believe in science.

                “Nope,” Alfred finally said, absently waving his fork to and fro. “Can’t say I believed in it. My dad teaches physics, so I was more of a solid facts kinda guy.”

                “Oh, that sounds…” Arthur looked up to the ceiling of their marble domed terrace for the correct response before lowering his eyes back to Alfred’s placid face. “It sounds just terrible. A childhood without magic is a garden without color.”

                “Well, not everyone is the Queen of Spades, Arthur,” Alfred smiled as he popped his fork into his mouth.

                Arthur nodded pleasantly with a lift of his teacup in Alfred’s direction. “Touché, young man.”

                As Arthur began to observe the slowly greening garden with a far-off glint in his eyes, Alfred sat back in his chair and devoted the rest of his breakfast time to finishing the bowl of fruit and admiring Arthur’s candid expression. Early spring chilled the air that Alfred inhaled, and breathing in the bitter air was more unpleasant than enjoyable, but sitting in the garden with such an interesting man made the cool weather just pleasant enough. Throughout their time together – had eleven days really gone already? – Alfred had learned that Arthur was an exceptionally interesting person. He had a way with words that made Alfred want to sit and listen for the rest of his life, with or without their special bond. There was something new to discover every time they sat down for a meal or tea, and at the rate he was going, Alfred wouldn’t be surprised if he never fully understood the Queen of Spades.

                When Arthur pulled out his pocket watch and observed the time, Alfred put down his fork and took a quick drink of water. “Ready for your lessons to begin, Alfred?”

                “Depends on the time. We’re not starting early again.” Alfred said crossly as Arthur pushed his chair back stood. He was referring to two days prior, when Alfred hadn’t taken a liking to the bitter croissants set in front of him. Alfred wasn’t one for sour things, and lemon croissants had surpassed any normal level of bitter by a landslide.

                “That was your fault for being picky with your food, Alfred. Next time, sit and eat the breakfast that’s given to you instead of whining while I try to teach you.”

                “That chef, what’s-her-name –”

                “Rosaline, Alfred.” Arthur corrected as he began to leave the garden with Alfred on his heels. Alfred nodded eagerly.

                “Right, Rosaline… she had it out for me that day, I swear.” Arthur gave an unimpressed hum, and Alfred pressed the issue further as they passed through the silver and gold sitting room. “I mean, it was an accident! How was I supposed to know that she was coming around the corner with that tray? Besides, I tried to help clean it up.”

                “She was covered in cherry cream sauce, Alfred. It’s a shame that such a fine cook must serve us instead of her apprentice, but Markus was sick. It was even more of a shame that she had to be ran-down by her future king.”

                “Again, it was an accident,” Alfred reassured as they began to ascend the stairs. “That doesn’t mean she has to serve something inedible.”

                Arthur held a gloved hand to his heart in mock surprise. “My goodness, but it was a sight to behold. Poor Rosaline Mackery pushed tail over teakettle by the future king, and her favorite dish, cherry cream toast, spilled all over the floor.”

                Alfred rolled his eyes as they strolled down the hallway side by side. “Arthur –”

                “There must have been quite a bit of force in that collision, because there was sauce all the way up the walls, my boy.”

                With a shake of his head, Alfred stole a glance at Arthur’s sly smile before he raised his hands in surrender. “All right, I get it. I’ll eat the food in front of me, but you have to agree to start our lessons at nine, like you said we would at the beginning.”

                Arthur nodded dismissively as they drew closer to the study, and much to Alfred’s surprise, closer to Yao. The scribe was standing next to the door of the study, apparently very aware that the Queen and future King would be coming past any moment. While Alfred smiled at Yao, he missed the way that Arthur’s eyebrows came together in anxious confusion.

                “Good morning, Yao.” Arthur said stiffly as he approached the Jack of Spades. Alfred came to a stop with the Queen in front of the study, hearing a less than enthusiastic “good morning” from Yao as he did.

                “I’ve never seen you out of the library. Are you on a field trip, Yao?”

                As Yao made a face that showed obvious confusion, he fidgeted with the papers in his hands. Glancing at the puddle of paper, Alfred noted the differences between Yao and Arthur. Arthur never fidgeted. Sitting or standing, Arthur held his stance and stared down whoever dare to speak to him. As if on cue, Arthur raised his chin and addressed the question at hand.

                “It’s true your work doesn’t normally extend outside of the work in the library. What is it that brings you to my study, Yao?”

                Taking in a breath, Yao fished one piece of parchment from his stack of papers and held it out to the Queen. “This has just arrived for you, Your Highness.”

                Alfred peered over Arthur’s shoulder as the Queen received the paper, adjusting his glasses as he struggled to catch what the paper said. “What is it?”

                When Arthur squinted at the paper and held it farther away from himself, he muttered a flat, “It’s obviously a proclamation of some kind, Alfred.”

 Before Alfred could actually lean further over Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur opened the door to his study and retreated into his work den to retrieve his reading glasses.

                “What kind of proclamation?” Alfred asked as he followed the shorter man into the study with Yao following close behind. Alfred made a beeline for the sofa, sitting down on the cushion farthest to the right that he’d claimed for himself from the first day he’d come into the study with Arthur. Yao stood off to the side, standing close enough to the wall that Alfred would suspect that Yao had an unhealthy attachment to it. Alfred picked his glasses off the regal desk, placed them upon his nose, and moved around the des to study the paper with a practiced air. Alfred sat forward in his seat, propping his elbows against his knees and leaning his weight onto them. “What is it? Some sort of paper that says your factory workers are going on strike?”

                It was a joke, but Arthur didn’t glare like he normally did. Instead, his eyes went wide as he looked at the paper, as if what Alfred had said was nothing but a breeze that blew past him. Yao shifted his papers from his left arm to his right, keeping a hard stare fixed on the floor as Arthur continued to read. Alfred glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension begin to rise in the room as he sat on the sofa quietly.

                “Arthur, what’s wrong? Did something bad –”

                “Oh, Gods…” Arthur murmured as he blindly reached for his chair that sat adjacent to the sofa. His green eyes remained glued to the paper, even after he tripped backwards into his chair, he didn’t look away from whatever condemning news was printed on the paper in black ink. “This is… Yao, I want you to assemble whatever records we have stored in the archives of the past treaties with Stratian and bring them to me immediately.”

                “Yes, Your Majesty,” Yao gave a small bow before he scurried out of the study and to the library in search of the archived paperwork.

                Arthur sat in his chair and reread the paper, worrying his lower lip and rubbing at his temple with his empty right hand. For several long seconds, Alfred sat quietly, unaware of the reason that the atmosphere in the palace had changed. The proclamation had caused the world to shift in the wrong direction, throwing even the formidable Arthur Kirkland out of balance. This made Alfred worry. Arthur usually wouldn’t stay quiet about something that angered or annoyed him; he would state very clearly what was wrong and what needed to be fixed. Now, he sat in his chair with his thin lips shaping silent words as he read, as if he needed more evidence that what he read was real.

                “Arthur, please.” Alfred’s plea shook Arthur just enough to make him blink and a taking a sharp inhale but not glance at Alfred. Standing from his place on the sofa, Alfred hovered over Arthur’s shoulder and read what was on the paper. “’We regret to inform you that the Kingdom of Stratian has –”

                “Has taken the side of a traitor,” Arthur finished with a sour bite in his words. The paper was thrown onto the floor of the study and Arthur was up and pacing. Alfred gingerly picked up the paper and put it on the seat of Arthur’s plush chair. “Those fools. Fools! How could they believe him? Samuel doesn’t even know what _he_ believes in, so how can anyone trust him?”

                Alfred grappled for words as Arthur paused for a response, but he didn’t know what to say. “Uh, well –”

                “They can’t trust him. Those idiots. Simpletons. Moronic, incompetent fools!” Arthur shouted as he paced, throwing his hands into the air as he spoke. It was almost like he was conducting an invisible orchestra with the way his arms moved in wide arcs and the emotions of his face matched that of an angry conductor trying to get a rising crescendo out of an unwilling bass section. “And now they turn on us, their main trade of fabric imports, and not to mention their longest standing alliance within the Card Kingdoms!”

                “Well, they had to do it for a reason, right? Maybe they just –”

                “No, no,” Arthur interrupted again, shaking his finger at Alfred in a scolding manner. Alfred’s face twisted into a displeased scowl at the sight of the gesture. He was nearly royalty, so why didn’t he get to speak? “These morons were tricked by the great nephew of a man that committed great treason against Spades, and now you want _me_ to understand their actions? Samuel D. Ferenwrite is a foolish conqueror who gained his kingdom through the means that his great uncle had attempted to take Spades and is wandering about the Outlands in a vain attempt to gain headway against Spades and take it once more. You want me to believe that Stratian has a _good reason_ for nullifying our treaty?”

                Alfred’s nose crinkled at the flood of information. The Outlands was any land outside of the card kingdoms, so every kingdom outside of Hearts, Diamonds, Spades, and Clubs was fair game. But everything else about nephews and treason went flying over his head.

                “Wait, wait. Who took over Spades? Who’s Samuel?”

                Arthur growled angrily in favor of words, pushing his gloved hands up and through his hair, pulling at the hair until Alfred was sure he’d bring his hands back down with fistfuls of spun gold. Alfred knew that something was very wrong with this Samuel person, and whoever sided with Samuel was labeled “bad” in Arthur’s mind as well. Did that mean that he had to write off all of those people as well?

                “I don’t have time to explain one hundred years of history to you!” Arthur gasped as Yao came rushing through the doors once more with several different piles of leather-bound paper, all of them yellowing with age. Arthur waved the scribe over to his desk, taking most of the papers from Yao and spreading them across the oak surface quickly. “I… I have work to do. Yao, do your best to work with Alfred. Do _not_ let him distract you from any lesson you dare to teach him.”

                Yao took a flustered breath, looking from Alfred and back to the Queen nervously. “What am I to teach him, Your Majesty?”

                Arthur didn’t look up from his papers. “History… traditions… anything you think any normal person of Spades is supposed to know.”

                And then Alfred was swept out of the study, only allowed one last glance at Arthur’s stiff shoulders and gold crown of hair before the door was shut and he was whisked away to the library. For the first several minutes in the library, Yao didn’t speak. He took up one large book and moved it from its place on a shelf to push it back into place only two books to the right. Alfred assumed it was an alphabetical thing, and followed suit, singing the alphabet in his head to make sure he was putting things in the right place. When Alfred did speak, it was in hushed tones, as if Alfred was almost afraid that Arthur could hear them whispering halfway across the palace.

                “So what was all that?”

                Yao didn’t look at the future king, opting to instead inspect the binding of an aged book with his dark eyes as he spoke. “That was Arthur, Your Highness.”

                That didn’t ring any bells with Alfred. “Right. And what does _that_ mean?”

                Yao sighed and put down the book he was holding on the shelf. “Do you know of the story _Grá Mór_?” Alfred shook his head. It sounded like something Arthur might mutter under his breath with Alfred did something stupid, but the way Yao said it, the name sounded a bit gentler. The Jack of Spades nodded slowly, turning to fully face Alfred as he continued. “It’s a folktale that originated here, in Spades. Grá Mór was said to be a very brave young woman who fought for the rights of Spades. In many ways, I believe that Arthur is like her...” Yao’s eyes looked down at the shelf for only a moment before glancing back up at Alfred. “Would you like to hear?”

                Alfred shrugged loosely. It would take time up, at least. Alfred didn’t quite know how long Arthur would be in his foul mood, so any way to waste time was good enough for him. Yao smiled and placed his left hand on the edge of the bookcase, leaning against it as he spoke.

                “Well, it’s a very, very old tale that is said to be the story of how Spades, as well as the other card kingdoms, were formed.” Yao reached back over his shoulder and pulled his ponytail of dark brown hair over his shoulder.  “Grá Mór was a woman that made her home in a small town that would someday become the capital city of Spades, and valued the wellbeing of her townspeople over every other thing. There are tales of people who had the same wishes for those of Diamonds, Hearts, and Clubs, but none are well known or well written as Grá Mór.

                “She was a woman warrior. She was the only one of her kind in that day, given that the land was mainly made of farmland. When there were threats from other cities, much larger than her land, she wouldn’t hesitate to organize the people and sought out the safety of her home town. Her brave actions and wishes for the safety of her people gave birth to what are now commonly referred to as the Cards of Spades.”

                Alfred piped up quickly “Like the card that brought me here.”

                “Precisely. In many ways, it was the card that brought you here, simply given to Grá Mór in a different time,” Yao smiled as he nodded along with Alfred’s comment. “The cards are given to the King and Queen that will do the most good for the people of that kingdom, and it is a common belief that these people are chosen by fate and by the gods.” Yao’s smile shrunk down into a thin line. “It’s written that Grá Mór was chosen for her outstanding ability to understand and guide her people to safety and prosperity,” Alfred began to draw the connections even before Yao glanced up at him and finished. “Just as Arthur has been leading the people of Spades for the past one hundred years.”

                Alfred bit his lower lip, looking to the ground as he tried to gain a moral from the story. “So, Arthur is great because he’s been leading them for so long, and he’s lived so long because…?”

                “The crown – as well as the magic of Spades – give the royal family the ability to never age as they serve the kingdom. All card kingdoms have this magical ability, only for the sake of the people’s safety and wellbeing. When the King and Queen are seen as unfit or unhealthy for a kingdom, their ability to age is restored, and the cards begin to seek the next King or Queen.”

                That news made Alfred feel more confused than when he started, but it was more interesting than concerning. Alfred supposed if he followed Arthur’s instructions, he would be a good enough king to last as long as he needed, and then he could go home. If Arthur had stayed alive for one hundred years without aging, then he was the best person to learn from when it came to being royalty.

                “To summarize my point, Grá Mór was a great woman who led her people to greatness despite her lack of power over the other kingdoms. Arthur is a great man…” Yao said as he took another book off of the shelf and placed it on the shelf below. “A great man who is simply trying to do his bets for the people of Spades. His anger is most likely a product of anxiety for his people… just as someday you will feel the same worry for your people.”

+++++

                When Alfred found his way back to the study, he didn’t hesitate to open the door and stroll inside. He wanted to know how to help Arthur and listening to stories in the library wasn’t going to get him anywhere. But as he looked around the study in preparation to give Arthur a grand speech about his rights as future King, Arthur was nowhere to be found.

                “Arthur?” Alfred called, going to the right side of the room and peering under Arthur’s desk, and then wandering to the left side of the room to check behind the sofas. If this was Arthur’s idea of hide-and-seek, he was certainly winning. Alfred stood up and looked at the doors that led to the balcony, taking in the sight of the gossamer curtains ad brass doorknobs. “Arthur, are you out there?”

                No response waited for him behind the closed doors. Arthur probably couldn’t hear him. Slowly opening up the door to the balcony and peeking out onto the wide balcony, Alfred could easily spot Arthur standing with his back to the door, leaning on the guardrail. Tension cut a wide line in the fabric against Arthur’s back, and the Queen’s clenched hands were braced on the top of the marble railing, staring out over the palace gardens and into the horizon. If Alfred could’ve seen Arthur’s face, he would’ve mused that it was a beautifully perturbed expression that artists would happily carve from stone.

                As Alfred stepped out onto the balcony behind Arthur, he inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass and exhaled a sigh. Beyond the palace gates, the capital city was crowded and bustling with people. Alfred mused that they were most likely getting their lunches before heading back to their respective duties before the sun set on the day. Alfred came to stand next to Arthur on the balcony, putting his hands on his hips and taking a deep breath of the crisp spring air.

                “It’s nice out here,” he said quietly, hearing Arthur respond with a low hum. “It’s a little chilly but still nice.”

                Arthur hummed again, not turning his gaze away from the center square of the capital. While the Queen remained stoic, Alfred figured that there was something specific he was watching, like a peddler that had tipped over a cart of fruit and was rushing to pick it up, or a man who had given a bouquet of roses to a married woman and was being chewed out by the woman’s chosen partner. But when Alfred squinted out at the city, he couldn’t see any such events. He saw exchanges of silver and gold coins and heard the hawking of different merchants and the allover buzz of voices.

                Alfred gave Arthur a considering glance from the corner of his eye, watching the way Arthur’s green eyes blinked slowly and how his pale face was illuminated by the frail sunlight that peeked through the clouds. The light accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, and made him almost look sickly when Alfred gave him a long look.

                “Arthur,” Alfred started, earning a long blink from Arthur in response. “Look, about what happened earlier –”

                “Yes, I must apologize,” Arthur interrupted quickly, standing up straight and looking down at the garden below them. Alfred pursed his lips and mentally reminded himself to talk to Arthur about how _impolite_ it was to interrupt someone. “My behavior was single-minded and inexcusable. I am very sorry for yelling at you, Alfred.”

                Alfred shrugged. “Well, I get the yelling. You’re just frustrated. Which I totally understand,” Alfred said with another shrug before he plucked at his own stiff vest. “I just think that you could’ve told me what was going on from the beginning.”

                Finally, Arthur turned to look at Alfred with barely contained exasperation. “You wanted me to tell you that a dead man’s family has been plotting to destroy Spades for one hundred years on your first day here?”

                Alfred took in a hissing breath through clenched teeth. Arthur had probably made the right move there, considering Alfred would’ve probably made a beeline for _anywhere_ that was far away from Spades. But, now he’d grown an attachment to the palace, as well as Arthur and the different palace workers, whether or not he could remember all of their names.

                “Okay, I get the whole not telling me thing, but still…” Alfred trailed off, not quite sure what he was going to say next. It was as if his entire speech had disappeared from his mind, and he had no plan whatsoever. Arthur smiled.

                “You want to know that badly…” Arthur turned back to the garden and looked down at one of the palace workers that was watering a lilac bush. “Well, Samuel is the great nephew of a man that committed an inexcusable treason against Spades. He posed as Spades royalty and caused a terrible kind of grief throughout the kingdom for people and royalty alike.”

                Alfred nodded. “What was his name?”

                “Donovan,” Arthur said before taking in a deep breath and continuing. “Donovan S. Ferenwrite is the man that overturned Spades.”

                After admitting the name, Arthur didn’t say anything else. His eyes stayed glued to the garden, and Alfred didn’t want to break whatever fragile moment of thought Arthur had made by speaking, so he kept his mouth shut. With a soft sigh, Alfred put his hands on the guardrail and leaned his weight onto them, looking out at the people beyond the gates.

                “Arthur, I want you to let me help next time, if I can,” he said lowly, hearing a rustle of fabric as Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder.

                “There’s nothing you could’ve done in this instance, Alfred. I was merely frustrated at the fact that good allies are being deceived…” Arthur responded, giving Alfred a pat on the shoulder as he finished his statement. “But, if there is another action we can take to keep our people safe, I’ll make sure that you’re the first to know.”

                When Arthur’s hands slipped from his shoulder, Alfred turned to see the Queen heading back for the door that led to his study. His gloved right hand brushed over the back of his neck as he went, most likely rubbing at tense muscles. Alfred thought of offering a massage, but Arthur was pretty uptight, and an offer like that would probably land him in a dungeon. Instead, he pushed away from the balcony to follow Arthur back into the study.

                “You’re gonna make me go over the etiquette lessons again, aren’t you?”

                Arthur gave an airy laugh as he sorted through the piles of paper on his desk, looking up and presenting Alfred with a pleasantly annoyed smile.

                “Of course I am. You’ll need to know your manners if you’re going to be helping with any foreign policies from now on. Shall we begin?"


	4. Quinque

                “Arthur, I’ve got five days,” Alfred said crossly as he gingerly reached for the saltshaker while struggling to keep his shoulders straight. “Five days until my coronation. Why am I doing this?”

                Arthur sat back in his chair with a distinct air of dignity about him while he took a sip of tea. “There will be a celebration following your coronation. You must know your table manners if you are to behave appropriately for the company we are expecting.”

                “Yeah… yes, I get that. But, in all honesty, those people can’t be _so_ important that I have to sit up straight all day long, right?” Arthur raised an eyebrow in response, and Alfred sighed. “Great. So, I have to eat like this with them, but I can act normal with you, right?”

                This question pleased Arthur, and his expression smoothed back into his normal, calm smile. “Of course. Slouch to your heart’s content, dear boy.”

                “Gee, thanks,” Alfred said as he gave Arthur a burning glance. Arthur merely sat up straighter with a twitch of his lips.

For the past several days, the Queen of Spades had agreed to his terms of helping with foreign affairs, but all that meant for Alfred was staying in Arthur’s study and reading over his shoulder for hours on end. If he had to choose lessons over reading with Arthur, he would’ve chosen the latter hands down. If Arthur was in a good mood, he’d read aloud with his naturally soothing and calm voice. If he was angry, everything he read sounded like a challenge. The most exciting piece to hear Arthur read was a grand invitation to the Ball of Hearts, which Alfred was obligated to attend.

“They want _me_ to come?” Alfred had asked after Arthur set the invitation aside. “They don’t even know me, yet.”

“It’s tradition for the royalty of each Card Kingdom to attend the seasonal ball of the other Card Kingdoms.” Arthur said smoothly as he removed his reading glasses. Alfred couldn’t help but by mesmerized at the way Arthur put one earpiece to his lips while he thought, and was pleasantly distracted by Arthur’s pale lips before Arthur lowered his glasses and broke his concentration.

Alfred leaned over to see Arthur tuck his glasses away in the first drawer of his desk. “’Seasonal ball.’”

“Yes, Alfred, seasonal. Each Card Kingdom has a designated season in which they hold a ball to celebrate a year for their kingdom. It’s a kingdom-wide celebration, and though not every citizen of the kingdom can fit in our palace, there will be festivities in the streets and throughout even the smallest villages. I suppose I forgot to tell you because our ball is still quite a ways away... the Ball of Spades isn’t until autumn, when most of our farms have been harvested and food made in Spades is plentiful.”

Nodding slowly, Alfred felt a smile come to his lips. “Like Thanksgiving, right?”

“Thanksgi-give… what?” Arthur gave his companion an exasperated expression while Alfred waved away the comment.

                “Never mind. You said that we have our ball in the fall?”

                Arthur had still look perplexed as he reached across his desk to shuffle a stack of papers. “Yes, that’s right. Hearts has their ball in the spring, Diamonds in the summer, Spades in fall, and Clubs in the winter. The King and Queen of each kingdom are expected to attend the galas of the other kingdoms out of trust and respect.”

                “So… what happens at the ball? Talking and eating?”

                “Well, the King and Queens are expected to dance with their husband or wife for the first dance and then –”

                “I don’t have a husband or wife,” Alfred quickly interjected, earning himself a rather unimpressed quirk of an eyebrow from Arthur.

                “Alfred, your coronation will also be a wedding. We are to be married. Didn’t you understand that?”

                There was much more to the conversation, but Alfred was too busy to think about it all as he was watching Arthur part his pale lips around something smart and sassy. He could easily ignore the frightening parts of Spades when Arthur was there to talk to him and distract him. Granted, marriage was a big thing for Alfred, but he didn’t plan on spending the rest of his life in Spades. He was going home eventually, and when he did, _whatever happened_ in Spades was going to _stay_ in Spades, including marriage to an extremely attractive Englishman.

                “… And that’s why understanding your table manners is imperative.” Arthur finished. He took a drink of tea and watched Alfred over the rim of his cup until he put it back on the table. “Alfred, were you listening?”

                Alfred blinked away his thoughts on escaping Spades and smiled. “Yes. I was listening.”

                Arthur took a deep breath and crossed his legs. “What was I just saying?”

                “Table manners are _good._ ” Alfred smiled, and then added with a frown, “Not knowing them is _bad_.”

                Arthur took a cleansing breath, fluttering his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to see Alfred’s sly grin.

Alfred loved annoying Arthur. It was the one way he could really get back at Arthur for all of the information that seemed to pass right over his head. All in all, the way his life was changing in Spades was more than he ever expected. He was going to be crowned King of Spades, and he was going to be married to Arthur, _and_ he still couldn’t find the card that could bring him home. If Arthur was going to be secretive about the ongoing progression of Alfred’s life in Spades, then Alfred had every right to annoy the Queen as much as he wanted.

                “May the Gods give me strength to turn a blind eye to your nonsense,” Arthur sighed as he took a slow drink from his teacup. His eyes were still closed, giving Alfred a nice view of the way Arthur’s golden eyelashes brushed along his slightly-flushed cheeks.

                It was a pleasant afternoon by Alfred’s standards. Aside from the lessons on table manners and having to maintain perfect posture, he was still spending the afternoon with Arthur, and that was more than enough to keep Alfred content. He had been learning the about the Outlands for the past two days, and whether or not he liked it, Arthur expected Alfred to memorize the names of every kingdom Spades had a treaty with outside the Card Kingdoms. So, when the Queen had opted to teach him table manners instead of grilling him on the names of every kingdom in the world, Alfred didn’t hesitate to sit down and smile at his future husband.

                _Husband_. The word still seemed so surreal to Alfred. He’d always known that he was bisexual, but none of them ever made him feel the way Arthur did. Arthur caused his stomach to turn into knotted twists every time he looked at him with those brilliant, green eyes, and whenever he would lean over Alfred to correct the way he held his fork and Alfred could smell Arthur’s unique, lilac-esque scent, Alfred would feel his heart pound.

These symptoms were much more intense than any other crush he’d ever experienced on Earth. But was it really okay to marry a man that he was merely infatuated with? When he was little, he believed in true love. After all, his parents had given him a high expectation of what marriage was supposed to be. But Alfred didn’t really love Arthur. At least… not yet. According to Arthur, their bond would strengthened after he was crowned. But until the time came when he could positively say that he loved Arthur and honestly understood whatever was going on in Spades, Alfred was taking deep pleasure in frustrating and annoying Arthur.

                “Arthur,” he said quietly. Arthur put down his teacup and opened his eyes to listen politely. Alfred felt his lips turn up in a wide smile. “You’re really pretty.”

                If Arthur had been drinking his tea, Alfred imagined that he would have spit it out across the table. It would’ve been like a cartoon, and Alfred _loved_ his Saturday morning cartoons. Arthur licked his lips and stared rather pointedly at the lace tablecloth.

                “Well, I appreciate the compliment.” Alfred squinted at Arthur’s porcelain face, refreshing his smile when he saw the faint suggestion of a blush on his pale cheeks. “But I can’t help but feel as if you’re expecting some sort of reward in exchange for those words.”

                Alfred leaned back with wide eyes, faking astonishment. When Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smile, Alfred did his best to smother a smile and look offended. “’Some sort of _reward_?’ Every day I spend in your presence is a reward, Arthur!”

                “Be careful where and when you utter your witty remarks, Alfred. I might just use them against you someday.”

                Alfred kept his shoulders back as he picked up his glass and raised it to Arthur before he quirked an eyebrow and said, “I’d like to see you try, old man.”

                “Oh, one hundred and twenty-three years is but a breath on the wind, young man.” Arthur defended himself, raising his teacup in the same manner Alfred had seconds ago with a sly smile. “And now I think the only reward you deserve is a swift kick in the pants.”

                Their cups _clicked_ together and they both took a drink, but before Alfred could actually swallow, he laughed at Arthur’s words and spit out his water over the table. If Arthur was angry, Alfred couldn’t tell. The Queen was too busy hiding his laughter behind a delicate, gloved hand.

+++++

                “Now be gentle with her, Your Highness. Just relax. That’s the way. Just lean back a bit and just feel the way she moves beneath you.”

Cherche, Alfred’s riding instructor, commanded him lightly. Alfred gripped the leather in his hands tightly and licked his lips as Cherche piped up behind him again, saying, “Fredrick, you shouldn’t stand so close. He might fall, or spook her and somehow land on you.”

                Alfred huffed a laugh, tugging on the reigns lightly enough to feel the horse beneath him stagger its steps and slow from its already sluggish walk.

                “You guys aren’t really building my confidence when you say stuff like that.”

                Cherche nodded slowly as she pulled at the harness of the horse and proceeded to lead the future king and his horse around the corral. Four days were left until his coronation, and Arthur had been studiously working to keep Alfred distracted. Of course, Alfred had noted this. He observed the way that Arthur would change the subject whenever he mentioned if he was nervous about the coronation. How could he ignore the way Arthur had changed his daily routine from learning about the kingdom to doing whatever it was that would keep him far away from the preparations going on inside the palace?

                His horseback riding lessons were merely a ploy to keep Alfred blissfully distracted from his upcoming date with fate. Of course, Arthur had been telling him traditional steps that would be taken in the ceremony, but if Alfred mentioned the idea of a mistake, the conversation was quickly deterred to the delightful topic of weather.

                It wasn’t exactly a bothersome change in their personal relationship, but it was enough to keep Alfred on edge no matter what he was doing, whether it be learning table manners, horseback riding, ballroom dancing, or even archery. All of his unconfirmed fears of making a dreadful mistake at the coronation were manifesting themselves in the form of anxiety, and when he was on a very tall horse for the first time, anxiety was not his best friend.

                In an effort to distract himself from the way the horse named Winnifred as bobbed her head a bit before shaking her mane, Alfred resorted to idle chat. “Cherche, has Arthur dropped by yet? He said that he’d check up on things in the afternoon, and it’s almost three o’clock.”

                Cherche shook her head, reaching out a black, leather gloved hand to pat Winnifred’s neck before brushing her own brown hair from her eyes. “I haven’t seen him yet, Your Majesty.”

                Alfred let out a long breath through his nose, looking over the left side of the horse to give Fredrick a disbelieving glance. When he woke up that morning and was told by Arthur that he was going to be taking riding lessons for the day, he hadn’t wanted to go alone. Fredrick, being the second person Alfred had met in Spades and therefore the second most dependable, had been gracious enough to attend the lessons instead of Arthur.

Leaning over just enough that he could almost feel himself slipping from his saddle, Alfred whispered down to Fredrick, “He’s probably in his study, avoiding me. I told him he was pretty a few days ago… he’s probably mad about that.”

Fredrick fought a smile as Winnifred was led around another corner of the corral. “Oh, I’m sure there’s another reason, Your Highness.”

Alfred huffed and clung to the stiff leather of his saddle when he felt his right foot slip from the stirrup, quickly pushing his foot back into place and holding onto Winnifred for dear life.

“Yeah, right,” he hissed through clenched teeth, clenching the muscles in his thighs and feeling Winnifred huff out an annoyed breath at the movement. “He probably thinks I’ll mess everything up if I try to see all of the fancy decorations, or something.”

“You are rather clumsy, Highness.” Cherche added, reaching back and slapping the side of Alfred’s thigh to stop him from agitating or confusing Winnifred with mixed signals for walking or running. Alfred yelped something profane, but obeyed when the instructor gave him a warning glance and turned her head fast and sharply enough to send her long brown braid whipping into his leg. “Maybe he thinks you’ll knock over another vase.”

“Thanks a lot, Cherche,” Alfred muttered before his horse reared her head and shook out her mane again, causing Alfred to gasp and lean away from her, only to nearly fall off of the saddle sideways. As he started to tilt, his fingers grasped for the edge of the leather saddle, and his feet in the stirrups tucked themselves up and against Winnifred’s sides in a vain attempt to hold himself in place.

Fredrick gasped something while Cherche rushed to take Alfred’s shoulder and push him back into the saddle, rather than have him fall. While Cherche held his right shoulder, another hand took hold of his left foot and pulled him back to an upright position.

“Alfred!” Alfred looked to his left to see Arthur with one hand on his left boot and the other atop his thigh, holding him securely in place while subjecting him to the fury of one thousand hells in his burning, emerald eyes. Well, it could’ve been a thousand hells if Alfred looked at it the right way. There was something else hidden in Arthur’s irises, and if Alfred looked at them just right, he could’ve sworn he saw a pronounced glimmer of fear. “Alfred, you should pay attention to your riding instructor when she tells you to relax! You needn’t be so afraid!”

“I’m not scared!” Alfred defended quickly, grabbing for the reigns while Arthur’s fingernails pierced his leg through the fabric of Arthur’s gloves and his trousers.

“Then why did you fall back when she reared?”

“I… she just startled me, that’s all.”

Arthur snorted at the excuse, digging his fingers into Alfred’s thigh more as he spoke. “You were just too busy blathering away at why I’m in my study, isn’t that it? Much too busy to notice that you’re sitting atop one very calm horse. If you hadn’t been so caught up in your foolish topics of conversation, you wouldn’t have been so easily spooked by her!”

Alfred squared his shoulders while Winnifred nickered softly. Cherche and Fredrick stood to the side awkwardly, holding onto Winnifred’s bridal and petting the horse’s nose. “Now, just a minute –”

“I’m not finished yet, Alfred. If you’re so keen on knowing the reason I kept you out of my study, it’s because you tipped over a pot of ink on the only copy of a treaty revision just two days ago. As much as you want to help with the oncoming threats from Samuel’s kingdom, I can’t help but worry you’re going to damage more documents!”

“You don’t have to yell at me. I said I was sorry for that!”

Arthur took a deep breath before continuing to shout, “I’m not yelling, Alfred. I’m just concerned for the prospective safety of our people, and you pouring ink over a guarantee of their good health is not doing any good for anyone. Why are _you_ yelling at _me_?”

Alfred shrugged in the most aggressive way he could with his hands on the reigns. “We always end up yelling every other time we talk!”

Arthur released Alfred’s thigh to throw his hands into the air _. “Why_ must we _always_ yell?”

Alfred mimicked the gesture and reached for the sky. “Fuckin’… I don’t know!”

While the two blondes glared at each other, Winnifred let out a huff and stomped her hoof on the ground, showing her displeasure with the turn of events. Arthur let out a sigh and shook his head, closing his eyes for only moment before turning back to catch Alfred’s gaze.

“I thought you were going to fall,” Arthur murmured, bringing up one gloved hand to pat Winnifred’s neck softly. “It certainly frightened me.”

“Sorry,” Alfred returned quietly, watching as Arthur waved Cherche and Fredrick away and began walking Winnifred forward. Fredrick gave Alfred a friendly wave while Cherche put an arm around the boy’s shoulders and tugged him toward the stables. Blinking quickly to regain his focus, Alfred looked back down at Arthur. “I was just distracted.”

The Queen let out a small laugh as they went smoothly around one corner of the corral without Alfred slipping from the saddle. “I’ve noticed that you are easily distracted, but that’s the charm of having a companion to keep you on track.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at Arthur’s golden head of hair before glancing at Winnifred’s shining coat. “Companion?”

“Winnifred is keeping you up, isn’t she? You’re calm, and she leads you forward in a way that you’ve never traveled before.” Arthur nodded with a sense of finality before adding, “That’s the charm of trusting your companions, whoever they may be.”

Gingerly releasing his right hand from the reigns, Alfred brushed his fingers through Winnifred’s coarse mane. When she didn’t react to the gentle touch, Alfred smiled and looked to Arthur to show him, but found the Queen of Spades already looking back at him with a beautifully warm smile.

“That’s the charm, Alfred,” Arthur repeated as he turned his gave forward again.

Alfred put his right hand on the reigns and slid his left hand over so it sat just on top of Arthur’s gloved one. Arthur cast a weary glance at the hand, but made no move to pull away as Alfred sat still. His judging glance lasted only for a moment, and he looked away easily, leaving his hand in Alfred’s with nothing to be said. It was a very small amount of trust, but it was enough to make something stir in Alfred’s stomach and make his heartbeat pound in his ears.

“Yeah,” Alfred agreed quietly, looking down at his future companion. “That’s the charm.”

+++++

                “You look simply marvelous, Your Majesty,” the royal tailor said as Alfred stood on a podium in front of a large mirror. “Simply marvelous. You were the colors of Spades splendidly, I must say.”

                Alfred would’ve nodded in agreement, but the outfit for his coronation didn’t exactly prohibit movement. It would’ve felt like his everyday clothes if it wasn’t for the excessive addition of layers. There were at least three different of vests, one on top of the other that sat on another puffy white shirt. Alfred sent out a silent “thank you” to the tailor for only making him wear one pair of trousers, but it didn’t make up for the heavy velvet cape that sat atop his shoulders.

                “I’m not King yet, sir,” Alfred said quietly as he looked for himself in the mirror.

He didn’t see himself in the glass; he only saw a stranger waiting for him in a king’s clothing. The coronation was two days away, and already he couldn’t recognize the man in front of him. He was someone new. He had been transformed into someone that was made to be the King, whereas Alfred had been lost somewhere along the line of that transformation. Alfred looked away from the mirror to see Arthur waiting for him in the doorway with his green eyes scanning the exterior of his future husband.

“I’m not King yet,” he repeated, feeling the clothing grow tight as anxiety made the world around him shrink uncomfortably. Everything was happening too soon. Where had his lazy mornings drinking tea with Arthur gone? He had gone from the slow learning the history of Spades in Arthur’s study to more noble and elegant study of table manners and horseback riding. Time had skipped passed him and he hadn’t noticed, and even now as Arthur watched him from the doorway, he couldn’t help but regret not savoring his last moments as a common boy. “I’m not King yet, so you shouldn’t call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

Alfred felt his throat grown tight at the thought of being King of Spades. His parents wouldn’t be there. What person didn’t want their loving parents at their first – and possibly only – wedding? Moreover, he might not even see his parents for months, years, or decades. By the time he found the card again, centuries could have passed. His parents could be dead by the time he was able to go home. Alfred took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the way the side of his hand came away covered in salty tears as he put his glasses back on and looked at Arthur with a painfully blank expression.

“I’m not King yet,” Alfred said again, taking in one shaking breath after another as his vision blurred with tears. Everything was happening too fast, and the pleasant company of one man was not enough to stave off homesickness. Alfred said one last time, “Arthur, I’m not King yet.” As if there was any hope of going home.

Arthur only nodded.

+++++

                “Arthur?” Alfred called quietly as he roamed the hallways of the palace. It was late, and the only source of light Alfred had to see with were the thin trails of moonlight that streamed through the large windows that lined the halls. His coronation was in only a few short hours, and he felt completely lost, mentally and physically, and the only person he could really talk to was the person he was going to be married to in the morning. “Arthur, where are you?”

                Honestly, he’d been living in the palace for three weeks. Why didn’t he know where Arthur’s room was yet? Simple: he was too stupid to ask. Well, he was unable to sleep and his feet were working, so he was going to find out by the end of the night or get hopelessly lost trying.

                Alfred had already explored the entire length of the palace on one side and was making his round to see the several other levels and extensions that waited for him on the second floor. If he still couldn’t find Arthur’s room, then he’d resort to going downstairs and doing his rounds all over again. What he saw waiting for him at the end of one familiar hallway made him stop in his tracks; the door to Arthur’s study was cracked open just enough to let out the light that was waiting inside. Lights meant people, but Alfred didn’t hear anything going on inside, not even the idle hum of Arthur’s voice when he read something aloud to himself.

                When he reached the door, he pushed it open wider, peeking in and seeing as much as he could, only to catch a glimpse of an empty desk. There was only one way to gain access to the room, and that was to knock and hope that he wasn’t interrupting anything private. Rapping his knuckles against the oak frame lightly, Alfred didn’t hear any quick rummaging or gasps of surprise in response. So, there was nothing to be hidden.

                “Come in,” came Arthur’s mellow tone from inside, giving Alfred permission to invade his territory.

                As he stepped into the study, Alfred felt a sense of tender nostalgia as he saw Arthur standing by the doors to the balcony. He remembered finding Arthur on the same balcony just the week before, and he remembered standing side by side with the Queen and looking out at the capital city. It seemed far away, as if it happened in another lifetime and not a short week ago. But as much as the balcony gave Alfred a heavy sense of melancholy, he couldn’t help but admire Arthur’s laid-back attire.

His formal vest had been stripped away, leaving only his loose shirt to hang over his shoulders and accentuate the curve of his hips where the shirt tucked into his trousers. His blonde hair was ruffled by the early spring wind that came through the open doors to the balcony, and the moonlight tinted his hair as well as his white trousers a sad, ashen color. As Alfred took slow, calculated steps toward the idle man, he saw a stern expression that could’ve been carved from stone and put up in an art museum for exhibit.

                In short, Arthur seemed to be finding new ways to be the most beautiful man in the world. It just seemed unfair that one man could be so innocently beautiful, unbearably smart, and charmingly witty all at once. No one else in the world could ever compete with him, and he was going to be married the perfect man in the morning. Alfred’s stomach clenched anxiously at the thought; he was going to be married to a man he’d only met three weeks ago.

                Before Alfred could turn on his heel and find the nearest bucket to vomit in, Arthur turned his glowing jade eyes to the younger man and presented him with a surprisingly gentle smile.

                “And what, may I ask, are you doing awake at this late hour, young man?”

                Alfred adjusted his glasses before he shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” Arthur nodded slowly, not losing his easy smile. “I’m nervous.”

                “You shouldn’t be,” Arthur said as he looked back out to the balcony, sighing at the sight of the streetlamps flickering in the distance. “We’ve been over the ceremony more than once, and the tailor said that your lines for the coronation were well executed, if not a bit hesitant.”

                Without any sort of response, Alfred hummed lowly and nodded his head, leaning against the opposite double door that led out to the balcony and watching the night pass them by slowly. The air was crisp and carried the pleasant scent of the garden below. As the seconds turned into minutes, Alfred glanced over at Arthur to see his eyelids droop and his head loll forward just a bit before the Queen blinked quickly and took to a deep breath. Alfred had noticed the dark circles below Arthur’s eyes, and now he had reasonable suspicion to assume that Arthur stayed up until one o’clock more often than not.

                “Arthur, why are you awake?”

                The Queen crossed his arms over his chest and sighed again. “I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since I became Queen of Spades.”

                Alfred hummed and nodded again, having nothing better to say to an insomniac. What was he supposed to say? _The smell of lilac is really soothing and helps people sleep?_ No, Arthur would probably take that the wrong way. With nothing else coming to mind, Alfred sat and stared out at the sleeping city that stretched out in front of him beyond the palace gates. He couldn’t help but worry about the fast approaching coronation, but more than that, he couldn’t help but worry about what came after the coronation.

                “Arthur?”

                There was a rustle of cloth, and the sound of a light yawn before Arthur’s sleepy voice responded with a slow and deep, “Yes, Alfred?”

                Alfred let out a yawn in response to Arthur’s before responding. “I miss my parents.”

                For a long minute, Arthur didn’t reply. He merely let the light silence settle around them as he contemplated the proper response to such a confession. Pursing his lips, Alfred realized that Arthur had never even mentioned his own parents. From what Arthur had told him, the families of the Kings, Queens, and Jacks of the Card Kingdoms didn’t age as long as their royal relatives were on the throne, so theoretically, Arthur’s parents were still alive. Yet, Arthur made no move to speak about them. Alfred mused that there was a story there, but was too tired to ask about it.

                “You have every right to miss them,” Arthur finally said, bringing up his gloveless right hand and rubbing at his tired eyes before continuing. “And I’m sure they miss you. They’d be mad not to.”

                Feeling the familiar prick of tears at the corners of his eyes, Alfred sniffed and shrugged while he took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. At least Arthur wasn’t mad at him for missing his home. That fact was a small, comforting lighthouse amid a troubled sea of emotion in Alfred’s head. As if he could tell what Alfred had been thinking, Arthur pushed away from the doorway and placed a soothing hand on Alfred’s shoulder.

                “It’s late. You should get some sleep, Alfred… Tomorrow will be a long day.”

                Now that he took the time to acknowledge it, Alfred realized he really was tired. He’d been so caught up in dreading the morning, he’d forgotten that he had already been awake for over twenty hours. Feeling his fatigue crash into him with a force, Alfred yawned again and nodded as Arthur’s hand on his shoulder gave him a fond pat and a wave as he turned and headed for the door of the study.

                “Wait,” Alfred said, turning to glance back at Arthur who was still standing at the edge of the balcony. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

                Arthur raised his eyebrows before he smiled and sighed in a way that made the butterflies in Alfred’s stomach take flight. “Oh, I couldn’t fall asleep if I tried. Goodnight, Alfred… I’ll see in the morning.”

                Alfred gave the Queen a nod and a hollow “goodnight” before continuing on his way. When Arthur called out to him once more, Alfred had one foot inside the study and one outside. He lifted his blue eyes to meet Arthur’s time-worn, green irises, and received one piece of advice before he was sent off to bed.

                “Alfred, don’t fear that tomorrow will be the end of life as you know it,” Arthur said in an almost longing tone. “Life is not over for you. There are still many paths and many possibilities for you to explore. You’re still very much alive. Tomorrow is not the end, Alfred. Tomorrow is simply a new chapter.”

                Alfred smiled and leaned against the door. “That sounds like something my English teacher would say…” Arthur blinked slowly with no recognition of the statement, and Alfred nodded with a wider smile. “But I think I like it better the way you say it.” Arthur smiled at this statement, and bowed his head in gratitude. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

                Just as Alfred closed the door, he could hear Arthur yawn once more and called out a breathy, “Goodnight, Alfred. Pleasant dreams.”


	5. Regnatus

“Well done, if I do say so myself.”

                Alfred stood on the podium once more for his final fitting before his coronation, staring at himself in a large mirror while the tailor commented on his own work. The older man nodded at his handwork, kneeling down and tugging lightly at the regal, long cloak that weighed down Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred made a face. He didn’t look like himself at all.

                His shoulders – covered in the thick, blue fabric of his cloak – seemed broader and less like his youthful self, stiff and commanding as if he was truly a king. His wire-framed glasses had been reworked so that they weren’t as flimsy as they used to be, and they felt heavy as they sat on his nose. So different from his former self, Alfred wasn’t sure if he liked the way he was now. He wasn’t a student, and he wasn’t a child… he was an adult that was about to become a king.

                Smoothing a hand down the front of his blue vest – which sat atop another silver-colored vest, and that was layered over a thick, white shirt that was over a _thinner_ white shirt – Alfred tried to take a deep breath, feeling the fabric around his torso and chest constrict and refuse to allow the action. Though the clothing was uncomfortable, the tailor seemed pleased with his work as he stood and have Alfred another compliment.

“Very good, Your Majesty. A sight to behold, I assure you.”

Alfred struggled to smile as Yao walked into the room with a calm expression. Alfred turned to regard the Jack while his blood pressure surged.

“I’m not King yet, sir.”

                The tailor sputtered some sort of refusal, but Yao’s authoritative presence in the room stilled his lips. His normal blue pants and long jacket had been replaced by imperial-looking robes that swept over his arms and down to the floor, pooling at his feet in a graceful puddle. His long hair was pulled back with a piece of sapphire, satin ribbon, and Alfred watched as the Jack pushed his bangs from his face smoothly. If Alfred hadn’t known better, it seemed that Yao was going to become the King in all his traditional clothing. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and the Jack gave him a warm glance before delivering the words that send the soon-to-be King’s heart racing.

“It’s time. Everything is prepared. Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

                Alfred felt himself seating through several layers of his shirts. He didn’t want to sweat, not when all of the peoples of Spades would be waiting beneath the balcony to see him become King. Or when Arthur would be in such close proximity to him. If Arthur saw him sweating, or worse, if he smelled it, he would surely have something sharp and witty to say about it. Trying to calm himself down, Alfred fought to take a deep breath, realizing with slight terror that the clothes had quite possibly gotten tighter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Yao nodded crisply. “Good. Now, you do remember the process of greeting Arthur, yes?”

“Yeah...” Alfred could hear clearly in his mind Arthur scolding him for saying “yeah,” and tried again. “Yes. I go up to the balcony, kneel in front of Arthur, and stand when he offers me his hand.”

Another nod from Yao. “Very good. And you understand the wedding and coronation?”

Breathing properly became more of struggle than a natural occurrence. He was far too young to be married, and to a stranger, no less. He had no time to panic now. Whether not he panicked, he was getting married, he was going to become the King, and his many layers of clothing and heavy brass buckles that held everything together were fighting to suffocate him.

“Arthur says his vows first. I say mine. You say that we are King and Queen of Spades. Then I kneel and Arthur puts the crown on my head. Everyone claps, we look at the people, end of story.”

“Ah, perhaps this is more of a beginning than an end, Your Majesty.”

                Yao had meant the comment to be helpful, but it only made Arthur’s words from the previous night ring in Alfred’s head once more. Alfred could recall the look of tired longing in Arthur’s eyes and the earnest way he had spoken to him, but it didn’t stop his stomach from churning or his throat from constricting nervously. He was thirsty, but he was sure if he’d drink anything, the clothes would become tighter and he’d never be able to breathe again.

He wanted to run. If he chose to run, he’d have to find the card that brought him to Spades before anyone had a chance to throw him into a hidden dungeon. Yet, he was faced with the question that had followed him since the night he arrive in Spades. Where could it have gone? He had looked for the card before he went to see Arthur only a few short hours ago, but he still couldn’t find it. If he couldn’t go home, then he wanted to sit down in the garden with Arthur and completely forget the coronation. He wanted to have breakfast with Arthur and pretend, just for a moment, that they were close friends that would share a meal every day without any alternative reason or magical bond drawing them together.

“Right,” he finally said after a long moment of thought, glancing back at the stranger in the mirror with a pensive expression. The King in the mirror watched him with equal anxiety, and the sight didn’t soothe his nerves. “I guess it is a beginning.”

                While Yao thanked the tailor for his fine work, Alfred stepped down from the podium and pulled restlessly at the cuffs of his sleeves. The buttons that held the sleeves to his wrists seemed too tight, and he wondered what would happen if he couldn’t feel his fingers enough to give Arthur his ring. Would Arthur yell at him? Would he be punished? Thrown into a dungeon? Alfred pursed his lips and pondered the idea. The air around the Queen was thick with honor and polite speech. It was a wonder that he didn’t smack Alfred for the very idea of leaving Spades. When Yao addressed him once more, Alfred’s eyes snapped up from the floor he had been watching carefully, and he swallowed around his claustrophobic collar.

“Your Majesty, we must go. Thank you again,” Yao gave a slight inclination of his head to the tailor and held out an object for the young King to take. The ring. Alfred reached out a trembling hand to take the band with little excitement, looking down at the heavy-looking sapphire situated atop the gold ring before slipping it into his vest pocket. “I trust you will know the right time to give it to the Queen. Now, shall we be off?”

                Not waiting for an answer – coherent or otherwise – Yao turned and brusquely made his way to the door, trusting Alfred to follow behind him. Obediently letting his numb feet lead him forward, Alfred took the small breaths that he could, attempting once more to calm himself down to no avail. The Jack stopped at the glass doorway to the balcony, giving Alfred a stern once over and a command to not go onto the balcony until he called for him. And then Yao was gone, leaving Alfred to worry about his fight-or-flight reactions getting the best of him.

                Closing his eyes and not bothering to peek around the wooden doorframe, Alfred leaned his shoulder against the wall and fought for a steadying breath. He had never felt so trapped before in his life. Not even when on a Halloween night his friends pulled a prank on him, locking him into the bathroom of a gas station and not coming to retrieve him. He remembered that the one teenage worker at the store had been attending the register at the other side of the building, unable to hear him pounding against the door. His parents called the police, and his friends finally confessed a full twelve hours later. He had been scared then… but he hadn’t been so scared that he couldn’t breathe.

                Back then, if he knew that he’d someday feel so scared that he could barely stand, he wouldn’t have cried in the corner. If he’d known that something much more horrifying was going to happen only a few short years later, there would have been no reason to scream until his throat was aching. He would’ve waited calmly with the knowledge that one day something much more frightening would happen.

He was marrying someone he didn’t love. Alfred opened his eyes and stopped his racing thoughts. That was only partially true. Kings and Queens were meant to be with each other, and Arthur had told him that their souls were linked. They were meant to fall in love and to keep each other safe. This fact soothed Alfred a bit, and he almost felt a smile form on his face until a shy palace worker tapped his shoulder.

“Your Majesty, that’s… that’s your cue,” the small brunette said quietly, poking a finger at the open doorway urgently.

Alfred blinked, then quickly stood up straight and smiled at the girl. “Thanks.”

                Turning the corner of the door, Alfred was met with the sight of Yao and Arthur standing at the edge of the balcony, waiting for him. Arthur turned to look at him slowly, and Alfred lips parted around a sigh. Instead of being dressed head to toe in royal blue and gold like Alfred had been, Arthur was dressed in the crisp colors of white and silver. Alfred knew that being a teenage boy meant that he was supposed to be attracted to pretty girls or boys, but he’d never really saw anyone as truly attractive. He’d gotten the magazines that other guys bought, and even a few that he would make the girls in his class shiver and giggle, but none of it really made him happy. He’d liked people, told them they were pretty, but no one had ever looked the way Arthur looked to him.

                As he took his first steps forward toward his soon-to-be husband, Alfred began to feel more confident in the fact that he was indeed falling for Arthur. Maybe Arthur didn’t feel it like he did, and certainly not to the same extent yet, but Alfred definitely knew that he was attracted to Arthur. Arthur’s thinner, more delicate shoulders cut a hard line in the platinum cloak that he wore, and the color trailed down over his arms until it draped over the ground in a glistening pile. Layers of vests adorned the length of Arthur’s torso, and the curve of his hips was accentuated by his tight, white trousers. His green eyes were striking against the absence of color in his white shirt and the shine of his shiver vest, causing him to look more captivating than he normally did.

                When Arthur blinked and raised an eyebrow, Alfred registered the fact that he’d been staring the entire time he’d been walking, and quickly averted his eyes to Arthur’s platinum boots that shone against the early afternoon sun. He didn’t have time to gawk. It was time to seal his fate in Spades.

Quickly going over the checklist in his head of things he had to do, Alfred stood in front of Arthur and put his right hand over his heart, pushing his heavy cloak back so that he could kneel in front of the Queen without getting caught. He kneeled there for several seconds, and when he thought Arthur wouldn’t give him a hand to signal that he was able to stand up, Alfred heard Arthur clear his throat softly. His left hand was already held out for Alfred, patient and waiting.

Giving Arthur a nervous smile – which was rewarded with a slight upturn of Arthur’s lips – Alfred took the extended hand and stood up tall, trying to focus his eyes on Arthur’s instead of watching Yao move around to stand on the other side of the couple. Yao was doing this so the people could see and hear him clearly, but it made Alfred feel more exposed to the strangers below the balcony.

                Yao began to talk, but Alfred couldn’t quite make out the words. It was all white noise mixed in with the ringing of his ears. Glancing over at Yao, Alfred confirmed that his lips were moving, but it was nothing but garbled speech and syllables that didn’t make any sense to him. Briefly panicking, Alfred’s eyes went from Yao’s face to Arthur’s, darting back and forth between the two as his breathing – still struggled and cut off by the layers of fabric – increased to the point of hysteria. He couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his own breathing.

                And then there was the pressure. The pressure of fingers against his own, holding him to reality and making him blink hard and swallow down a frantic question of whether he was missing something or not. Arthur’s eyes were level and tranquil as he watched the younger man, and Alfred felt the edgy claws of panic loosen their hold while Arthur looked at him. It was as if Arthur was the calm in a storm, taking all of the winds and waves and smoothing them out into something more rational with his eyes of roughly-cut jade.

“I promise,” he began grandly, and Alfred blinked. He was already giving his vows? He must have been going to pieces for a significant amount of time if he’d missed Yao’s entire speech of how the kingdom was uniting two great people and such. Arthur went on, reaching into the breast pocket of his top vest and taking out a thick band of gold. “To cherish you, my King, until our time as King and Queen is over and done. I vow to support your endeavors as you challenge those who threaten our people, and will brace your shoulders if the weight of war should crash down upon you.”

                Arthur slipped the ring onto Alfred’s ring finger, holding the boy’s shaking hand steady as he did so before looking back up to catch his blue eyes. Giving Alfred a reassuring nod, Arthur let Alfred take both of his hands and hold them while Yao’s lips moved around another mouthful of nonsense. When the Jack’s lips stilled, Alfred dug into his pocket and pulled out the ring, licking his lips and hoping that he wouldn’t make any mistakes.

“I promise to cherish you, my Queen, until our time as King and Queen is over and done.” Alfred didn’t want to drop the ring, and quickly pushed the ring onto Arthur’s finger while he finished the rest of his vow breathlessly. “I vow to support your endeavors as you protect our people and their interests, and will hold your head in my hands should the cries of their misfortune become a raging tempest.”

                With his hands safely in Arthur’s again, Alfred felt much more comfortable. Safe and secure. If he could just have Arthur hold onto him and keep him from disappearing into the swells and folds of his clothing, he assured himself that he’d be fine. Yao raised his hands to the sky with his palms open to the clouds and spoke in a loud voice that was sure to reach the borders of the kingdom.

“People of Spades, the King and Queen are united in an eternal bond! Life begins anew in the kingdom of Spades!”

                As if the announcement was made at a famous rock concert, there was shouting and cheering from the people below the balcony. Alfred could feel the excitement in their voices welling up inside him, bubbling up to the surface of his skin and burning every nerve into overload. But he knew he didn’t have time to melt beneath the pressure of his kingdom yet. He had to kneel again while Yao gave a traditional speech about how Alfred was truly the ruler of Spades, and then Arthur would place the crown on his head. Then he could finally get out of the clothes that were certain to eat him if Arthur didn’t keep a close eye on them.

                Bending down to one knee once more, Alfred felt himself suffocating under his anxiety without Arthur’s calming presence to distract him. Yao began to speak again, but without any real conviction to listen, he only caught quick bursts of “honor” and “protecting the people.” Spider webs of thought were caught in the far side of his brain, and he blinked hard against the urge to get lost in them. He had to be ready for the moment when the crown would be placed on his head and he would officially be dubbed King of Spades.

                “Alfred,” Arthur’s voice was almost a whisper against the thick silence that had settled through the air, and Alfred took a small breath as he realized that Yao had stopped talking.

                The crowds of people had hushed, and they waited with bated breath as Alfred turned up his head to see the Queen looking down at him expectantly with the intricately designed ring of gold waiting in his hands. Before he had a chance to whisper a question of whether or no he forgot to do something, Arthur leaned forward and set the crown evenly atop Alfred’s golden hair.

                Cheers erupted from the people below the balcony once more, and Alfred felt the pressure of the clothing closing around him again as he took in his surroundings as a new man. King of Spades. Only three weeks ago, he had been safely tucked away in his bedroom, worrying about a calculus test. Now he was King, and married to a man that he was going to fall in love with.

                “Alfred?” Arthur called down to him again, and Alfred licked his dry lips and stood shakily.

                He tried to give Arthur a smile, but it must’ve come out a grimace because Arthur didn’t seem convinced. His thick eyebrows drew down into a frown as he looped his arm through Alfred’s and turned the boy to the crowd, effectively setting Alfred over the edge of panic. There were expectant faces there in the sea of men, women, and children, all of them waiting for Alfred to be the King they expected him to be. Arthur stood next to him quietly, smiling out at the groups of ecstatic people while Alfred fought the urge to throw up.

                “Tell me what’s wrong,” the Queen said low enough for only the King to hear and leaving the Jack all but in the dark. The teen brought up his left hand and wiped away the trace of sweat on his forehead, feeling the clothing grow unexplainably tighter. “Alfred, tell me _now_.”

                Alfred couldn’t look away from the masses of people. They were depending on him, and he hardly had a handle on the inner workings of the kingdom. He couldn’t breathe. It was too much all at once. The anxiety that he’d put out of mind for three weeks had built itself up into a physical thing and was quickly crushing him. His right hand shook as he took Arthur’s hand and leaned down to whisper fervently in the Queen’s ear, “Arthur, I’m freaking out. I can’t breathe.”

                Arthur’s captivating, green eyes went wide as he looked over his new husband’s pale face and trembling hands. Wasting no time, Arthur gave a slight inclination of his head to the crowds and put a hand on Alfred’s back to push him into a deep bow before turning away. He tugged Alfred out the balcony doors and into the hallway, holding his clammy hand tight as he moved through the hallways. Feeling urgency in the air, Alfred’s heart kicked into overdrive, and he felt lightheaded as several palace workers gave him concerned glances as he passed them. Breathing was more of a blessing than a natural function to him now, and he felt his lungs contract in odd intervals, resulting in sad, desperate gasps.

                “In here, Alfred,” Arthur said quickly, opening a door that Alfred had never seen before and letting him trip inside.

                Scrambling to somehow unsnap the complicated hooks and clasps that held his clothing together, Alfred felt his hysteric outburst begin to register as pathetic. He must look so stupid to the man who locked the door behind them and turned to watch his anxious fit. Alfred’s hands felt numb as they struggled to pull at the clip that held his cloak closed, and he whimpered sadly as he struggled with it. With all of the trouble he was having, there was no doubt he was going to die from asphyxiation before the afternoon was over.

                “Alfred,” Arthur said calmly, cutting into his helpless thoughts. “Everything is alright, now. Don’t be afraid.”

                “Not fine, Arthur! This is not fine,” Alfred wheezed, hearing his voice peak up into frightened squeaks as he simply pulled the heavy cape over his head and started to fumble with the buttons on his first vest. “So not fine… I can’t breathe. I can’t… I can’t breathe, and I can’t get this stupid thing off!”

                Feeling the prickly sensation of tears, Alfred’s shaking hands brushed at his eyes to somehow chase away the moisture. It was stupid and frustrating. Didn’t Arthur understand that? He was supposed to be grand and all-powerful in Spades, so why didn’t he command that Alfred didn’t have to wear so many layers?

                “Oh, for the Gods’ sake,” Arthur stepped forward and pulled at the buttons of Alfred’s vest, moving down the loops much faster than the new King could have accomplished on his own. Alfred’s hands knocked his, still trying to help, but Arthur swatted them away. “Put your hands down, Your Majesty.”

                Alfred complied and took a deeper breath when Arthur opened the vest and slid it down over his arms, then going back and starting with the next one. His dexterous fingers flicked at the strings that laced the next layer shut, pulling them through one level to the next until the vest could be opened.

                “You’re all right now,” Arthur murmured softly, pushing the vest open and allowing Alfred to breathe easier. “Do you see? You’re all right.”

                “No. Not yet,” Alfred huffed, pulling off the vest and itching at the hot skin that seemed to have been festering under the vests and shirts.

                Arthur took a careful step back and nodded slowly as Alfred moved around the room restlessly. Alfred adjusted his glasses and pushed his hands through his hair before untucking one of his white shirts from the waistband of his trousers and tugging at the collar as if it was choking him.

                “All right. Alfred, tell me what you need. A drink of water, perhaps?”

                Alfred’s stomach churned at the idea, and he shook his head quickly, immediately regretting it as his head swam with vertigo.

                “No, no, no… No water.”

                “That’s all right, Alfred. Just tell me what you want me to do.” Alfred swallowed and took in another heaving breath as he bent over double and attempted to not feel dizzy. “Do you want me to leave, Your Majesty?”

                “Don’t,” Alfred stood up straight, shaking his head again only to grit his teeth and make a sad noise in the back of his throat as his hands shook. “I already told you not call me that, please, just…”

                “Alfred, you’re all right. It’s all right to be afraid,

” Arthur said calmly, stepping forward and bracing his hands on Alfred’s shoulders and forcing his King to remain still. “Sit down before you hurt yourself, or I’ll make you sit down, you quivering buffoon.”

                Alfred easily fell to the floor with an almost satisfied smile, feeling refreshed with the way that Arthur snapped at him. It was as if things were back to normal. Like he wasn’t King anymore and there weren’t any responsibilities or imminent threats of war. For the few seconds Arthur stood over him and smiled, he was back in the garden, and the Queen was lightly chastising him for the way he held himself as he poked a fork through a piece of ham and put it into his mouth. But it only lasted for those brief few seconds, and he was quickly leaning forward to put his head between his knees and breathe.

                “There, now. Was that so difficult?” Arthur asked innocently as Alfred huffed a humorless laugh.

                Arthur got down on his knees in front of the new King, sitting quietly while Alfred fought his panic attack. With his blue eyes searching anxiously for Arthur’s eyes, Alfred finally found Arthur watching the crown on his head. Before he could ask what was wrong, Arthur’s hand rose up to take the treasure from atop his hair and set it on the floor with a sad clink, followed by his own crown. And just like that, they were just two men sitting on the floor, no longer King or Queen of Spades.

                “Aren’t you scared?” Alfred mumbled, looking to the locked door and then back to Arthur’s passive expression.  “Aren’t you just a little nervous?”

                The Queen pursed his lips and leaned back with raised eyebrows, letting more of his life fall out of his mouth and into Alfred’s waiting ears.

                “When I was first married, I was afraid,” he let out a breath and shook his head. “I was terrified.”

                Alfred’s nervous mind rattled around the information he was just granted before finally questioning it. “First married?”

                “Yes. Perhaps a story would calm you down?” Alfred gave a tired shrug as his gasping became slow, heaving breaths. “Well then, I suppose I should begin at the beginning.” Arthur looked over to the crowns sitting sadly on the floor as he spoke. “I became the Queen of Spades when I was sixteen years-old, and I waited for my King for almost two years. Many people had started to give up hope that the King would be chosen by the cards, but seemingly out of the blue, a man appeared at the gates of the palace and claimed that he was King. He had the card, Alfred. It was a card that was nearly identical to the one that you possessed when you walked into Spades,” Arthur laughed just once, shaking his head and smiling. “It was simply too good to be true.”

                Alfred’s hands were still shaking as he adjusted his glasses and watched Arthur carefully. “Why?”

                Arthur glanced up at him through his golden fan of eyelashes sharply. “Well, he was an imposter, Alfred. He simply wasn’t you. The fact that he had been able to make a card nearly identical to the one that you brought with you to Spades was horrifying enough, but the fact that we went through with the process of marriage and putting him on the throne was a different realm of horror altogether,” his hands went to smooth the front of his own silver vest before continuing. “It wasn’t until six months had passed did I truly realize that he wasn’t the King… and to my misfortune, the royal counsel didn’t want to believe me.”

                “How did you figure it out?”

                Arthur sighed. “I didn’t love him. I knew that I never would. He was… a very bad man, Alfred. Cruel to his own people and evermore to the one he was married to… I was a prisoner in this palace.” The green eyes that had saved Alfred from his fears looked far away for a moment before refocusing and gaining a flaccid glint. “And then after five years, he was no longer King. Of course I was afraid when I thought of marriage once again. But then I met you, and I knew that you couldn’t possibly be the same kind of man and I was no longer quite so anxious.”

                It was a personal story, Alfred knew, but it didn’t stop him from being curious. It was a bolt out of the blue, and he wanted to know more. After six months Arthur knew that he would never love his King. Did that mean he had six months to fall in love with Arthur or he’d be kicked out of the Kingdom? It almost sounded like a bad reality TV show. _You can be King, but only if you manage to win the heart of the Queen in six months!_ Well, six months could be a very long time. But what would happen if Arthur didn’t want to fall in love with him, or decided that Alfred’s love – if it ever surfaced – was simply not enough? Alfred bit the inside of his cheek and watched Arthur’s bored expression carefully.

                “What happened to him? That fake King, I mean.”

                Arthur took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling for a moment. “The power of the crown – the strength and cunning of Spades that I told you about – simply overwhelmed him. He wasn’t meant to hold the crown, and in turn, was not meant to possess such gifts. There was also the added fact that he tried to fill in a place in my chest where your heart is meant to reside, and that kind of negative impact on fate twisted his soul.”

                That was an interesting fact to Alfred. Arthur believed that Alfred’s heart ultimately belonged to him, so did that mean that Arthur’s heart belonged to Alfred in exchange? He didn’t want to go off on a tangent and lose the main idea of what Arthur said, so Alfred leaned forward and pushed the subject. “So, what happened?”

                The Queen smiled and let out the breath he’d been holding. “He drove himself mad, Alfred. And after a few years of his madness, he died. He threw himself over the highest balcony, claiming that somehow I had ruined his plan to be the best King that Spades had ever seen. Truly, it was his own fault for trying to replace the rightful King: you. Then again, I was waiting for one hundred years for you to come to Spades, so the subject is mere history.”

                Alfred swallowed thickly. The man had killed himself because he had tried to be the King of Spades. What if everything he had done was a mistake, and he was an imposter without knowing it? If he was somehow given a trick card by accident, would he go crazy like the former King? Alfred felt sick all over again for a new reason.

                “I want to go home,” he muttered, casting a sad glance at the crowns that lay on the floor next to them.

                “You should have thought about that before we were married, Alfred,” Arthur chided lightly, wagging his finger to and fro as if Alfred had acted like a small child whining about eating their dessert first. He then proceeded to stand, leaving Alfred in a disgruntled heap on the floor while he straightened his cloak and patted down his trousers.

                “Now, then. We must be going back to the throne room to greet all of the guests that have arrived to congratulate you.”

                “Wait!” Alfred intervened, not entirely keen on going back to the crowds. “Can’t we just… I don’t know, stay here for a while and –”

                “I’m afraid not,” Arthur said stiffly, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves and looking down on Alfred with a disapproving stare. “We’ve used up what seldom time we did have before they arrived to calm you down from your little fit.” Alfred frowned at the title Arthur gave his panic attack and watched as the Queen took his crown from the floor, placing the golden piece atop his head. “You _are_ feeling better now, I presume?”

                “Yeah,” Arthur raised an eyebrow and Alfred quickly corrected himself. “I meant ‘yes.’”

                “Indeed. Now, if you allow me, I’ll be going to the throne room ahead of you. You must fix yourself up, and smooth all of the wrinkles you put into that shirt.” Arthur made a face while Alfred looked down at the creases and folds that were cutting across the front of his white shirt. “You should know that I do hate when things are out of order.”

                Alfred smiled up at his Queen before reaching over to pick up one of the vests he had tossed on the ground earlier. Standing up to tuck his shirt back into his trousers, Alfred watched as Arthur gave a small bow and made for the door with a lax pace, intent on leaving the boy alone. Grasping onto a question that Alfred hoped would keep the older man there longer, Alfred thrust his arms into one of his vests and pulled it tight to his body while he called to the man.

                “Arthur, wait,” the Queen paused in the doorway to glance back at his husband, his hand still on the doorknob and his foot halfway out the door. “What was his name?”

                Arthur squinted at him. “Pardon?”

                “The King before me,” Alfred pushed the buttons of his vest through the loops quickly. “What was his name?”

                There was a significant pause in the conversation, and Alfred was almost positive that Arthur had told him to “not waste time in a conversation” on sunny afternoon. He would have to remember to tread lightly when it came to the former King.

                “His name was Donovan. Donovan S. Ferenwrite,” Arthur finally answered, his voice almost lost beneath the rustle of Alfred’s cloak as he struggled with it.

                Alfred blinked. “Wait. Isn’t that the guy that ‘overturned Spades?’ The guy whose nephew is trying to get revenge on us?”

                Arthur’s eyes scanned the floor before he nodded his head. “I’ll meet you in the throne room, Your Highness.”

                Opening his mouth to call for Arthur to wait, Alfred reached down to pick up his crown just in time to hear the door shut behind his new husband. With brief struggling, Alfred managed to clip his cloak together so that it wasn’t choking him and completely button his vest. He looked at the crown for a moment. It was a large ring of gold with symbols of spades around the brim, laced with thickly cut sapphires that chased around the circumference. It was his cross to bear as a new King.

                And as new King, he was going to fall in love with Arthur. He could only imagine that the sickening anticipation he was feeling was something akin to what Arthur had felt when he married Donovan. But, the man was a traitor. A “very bad man,” Arthur had said. He had been so quiet and so kind when Alfred had freaked out… Arthur was probably not given the same treatment. If he was afraid, he could only imagine it was for an entirely different reason. Needless to say, Arthur was a brave Queen with a uniquely frightening past when it came to marriage.

                Alfred sighed. He most likely wouldn’t catch up with Arthur in the hallway, so he’d have to talk to the Queen in the throne room. This was all well and done, but… he had no idea where he was, let alone which way the throne room.

                Putting the crown on his head, Alfred felt his cloak drag behind him as he stepped into the hallway, looking left and then right in hopes of seeing Arthur walking in either directions of the hallway intersection. There was nothing in either direction. No Arthur, no palace workers, and not even his loyal pal Fredrick. Alfred shut the door behind him and wandered down the left hallway for a few minutes, looking at the halls that branched off to his left and right as he passed them, seeing a few palace workers running to retrieve or fix something. Most likely for their guests, Alfred thought as he reached the end of the left hallway. He scowled. The end of the hall was framed with a large window that overlooked the early spring garden, still bright and open with blooms of several colors.

                Well, he could discern that _that_ hall definitely did not lead the throne room.

                Alfred saw a young woman wandering down the hall with two folded towels in her arms. Her light brown hair tied up in two braids that were pinned up into a tight bun, and her dark eyes glinted in the light that streamed through the windows of the hallway. He stepped up to block her path with a smile, and she reciprocated the expression after she gave a small curtsy.

                “Your Majesty. Might I get you something?”

                “I need some help,” he said flatly, watching with an embarrassed expression as the girl giggled softly. “I can’t find the throne room.”

                “Of course. Right this way, your majesty.”

                The girl gave another curtsy before turning on her heel and retreating down the hall she had been walking away from only moments before. She led him quietly, walking in front of him with quiet, clicking steps in her thin-soled shoes while her plain blue dress and white apron fluttered at her ankles with each step. Alfred almost thought she was pretty, but he thought of Arthur in his wedding attire, and the thoughts of the girl were labelled as obsolete. Arthur was beautiful, and this girl was just another flower in a field of natural valley blooms. Arthur was a cherry blossom amid the bland colored petals of any other person, looking so very captivating but gone just as soon as Alfred asked the wrong question.

                Blinking rapidly to rid himself of the warmth that came to his cheeks at the thought of Arthur – perhaps it really wouldn’t be that hard to fall in love with him after all -- Alfred registered the sound of voices. It was a low hum of speech until they turned a corner and the voices were defined into audible tones that rang with laughter and idle chatter. Further down this hall, he saw the wide open doors that led to the throne room, where there was a number of people large enough to make Alfred nervous again. The young worker gave a slight gesture to the doors as she stopped a liberal five meters away, giving the King another bow and a smile.

                “Thanks,” he said unevenly, looking to the unfamiliar faces that were waiting for him. “I don’t suppose you think I could just sit this one out, do you?”

                The girl made a low humming noise as she smoothed the cotton towels in her arms. “I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. It is customary for the nobles to greet the King and Queen after the wedding and coronations. The greeting and congratulating lasts for an even sixty minutes; the nobles then leave the palace to allow the King and Queen time to settle into their new roles.”

                Alfred made a face. “You know more about this than I do.”

                The girl answered with her own pinched face. “That, Your Majesty, is because I am specially trained to know about these things, whether I like it or not.”

                “I like you, kid.” Alfred smiled, turning to her and giving her a small inclination of his head. “What’s your name?”

                She curtsied once more, lower this time as she bowed her head. “Clara, Your Majesty.”

                “Well, Clara, good luck with whatever you’re doing. I’m headed to my doom.”

                “Thank you, your majesty. I do hope that you survive.”

                With that, Clara was off and turning around the corner to deliver her towels to an unknown room, leaving the new King to fend for himself. At least she had gone along with his sarcasm. Arthur had a tendency to smirk or roll his eyes when Alfred said something dramatic. But that was what made Arthur… well, _Arthur_. Squaring his shoulders and assuring himself that he’d find Arthur as soon as he walked into the throne room, Alfred took quick steps as he moved through the doorway and into the crowd of strangers.

                There were too many people in the room. Hundreds of different faces and thousands of eyes turned to Alfred, watching and sizing him up as he took even steps through the room. All he had to do was find Arthur, and he would be safe from the probing eyes and sparkling smiles. Remembering Arthur’s comments in the garden to behave and be sociable, Alfred forced a smile onto his face, glancing through the crowd and nodding several individuals that were looking him in the eye. It was strange, having all of these people watching him, but it was exhilarating as well. He was officially the most important person in the room, second only to Arthur.

                Speaking of which, Alfred caught a glimpse of shimmering gold to his left, and found Arthur at the head of the room, listening to a woman as she animatedly told him a story. It must not have been very interesting, because within seconds of listening, Arthur’s eyes wandered away from the woman’s face and found Alfred staring, as if his eyes were automatically drawn to find his King. Alfred’s smile felt much more genuine as he turn his back to the girth of the crowds and quickly advanced toward Arthur.

                As he approached, he saw Arthur smile at the woman and give a polite, “If you’ll excuse me, Madam Cynthia,” before he stepped away and met Alfred in front of the two golden thrones. His green eyes were clear of any frustration or hesitation, giving no sign that they had only just discussed the fact that he had been married off to a traitor who was most likely mentally ill and abusive.

                “So,” Alfred said, angling himself so that he was looking out at the crowds – they stared back, whispering behind gloved hands to each other – while talking down to the shorter man before him. “Donovan the traitor was King, once?”

                “I do _not_ wish to discuss this at the moment,” Arthur snapped quietly, reaching up to adjust the way Alfred’s cloak sat on his shoulders. It was normal for Arthur to fix and smooth out the way Alfred was dressed given that he was very sloppy, so the gesture went unnoticed.

                Alfred pursed his lips before turning his eyes back to Arthur’s. “Why?”

                There was a flicker of agitation in Arthur’s eyes as he pat Alfred’s shoulder. “Another time, Alfred. Not now.”

                The conversation was labeled “finished” as an older man approached them, Alfred sealed his lips shut and smiled as Arthur turned to the man and gave him a polite nod. He was the pure depiction of a man of Spades, wearing the signature colors of blue and silver that Alfred and Arthur both wore, but in darker, more worn tones. He was someone of significant status, given the shining silver pins and medals that adorned his blue coat. As he approached Alfred and Arthur, he combed his fingers through his coarse grey beard

                “Ah, the new King of Spades,” he greeted with an outstretched hand toward Alfred. Alfred quickly took the hand, giving it a firm shake before nodding at the man just as Arthur had. “Quite young for a King, aren’t you?”

                Alfred raised an eyebrow at the statement, biting back a sarcastic reply as he did. Arthur had become Queen of Spades at the age of sixteen, which meant that he was a full three years ahead of Arthur in life experience when he was fresh on the throne. Arthur laughed politely in response to the man’s question. Alfred knew the difference between Arthur’s real laugh and a fake one, given all of the examples from different instances that had occurred between him and palace workers. His fake laugh was always caught high in his throat, monotonous and bland, as if the humor never really reached his heart. Whereas the real laugh went up a scale of notes, like a wind chime getting caught on a warm breeze.

                “He’s not too young, Charleton. His name is Alfred Jones, and I do not doubt that he’ll be a wonderful King.” Alfred felt his cheeks grow warm as Arthur stated his hopes confidently. “Alfred, this is Sir Charleton, the former captain of the Spades Cavaliers,” Arthur said through a stiff smile, giving the tall man a gesture of his hand as if he was a piece of art on display. Alfred nodded again, noting his grey beard and sun-worn skin.

                “A pleasure to meet you, Sir Charleton.”

                Charleton puffed a breath of laughter, giving Alfred a considering once-over. “A bit on the scrawny side, isn’t he?”

                Alfred fought the urge to point out the man’s rotund belly and protesting belt as Charleton looked to Arthur. Alfred’s new husband raised his chin and his smile melted away to show the former captain of the Cavaliers his truly frightening angry face.

                “Bite your tongue, Charleton. He’s not yet been through proper training in riding or swordsmanship. He’ll learn, and grow much stronger with time.”

                The captain’s face burned a brilliant crimson as he sputtered and pulled his fingers through his beard again. “I… I mean no offence, Your Highness, I merely meant to say –”

                Arthur held up a hand to stop Charleton’s excuse in its tracks. “I believe you’ve said enough, Sir Charleton,” the Queen stated tersely while Alfred smiled at the agitated expression on his face. Arthur turned away from the former captain and waved for Alfred to follow, not before leaving Charleton with a stern expression. “The King and I have many other guests to speak to… I do hope you enjoy the rest of the celebration.”

+++++

                As a former high school student, Alfred could confidently say that he’d been through many boring situations. He had been through the drones of a chemistry teacher who didn’t know what to teach, the long and informative movies on road safety, and the dull spaces that came when taking tests. In Spades, the only boring times he had the misfortune of experiencing came when Arthur wasn’t around him. So, when Arthur excused himself to speak to a man who entered the palace halfway through the celebration, Alfred was absurdly bored with the crowds.

                He had greeted and thanked several people for their congratulations, few of which he actually remembered the names of five minutes after they spoke. Forty minutes had passed since the celebration had started, and Alfred was simply counting down the minutes until the guests were ushered away and he could sit down with Arthur and relax.

                More than hating the pressure of large crowds, Alfred felt uncomfortable if he didn’t have Arthur with him. There was a lonely, worrisome feeling that grew up under his lungs and almost made him feel sick to his stomach when Arthur wasn’t near him. When he couldn’t see Arthur, he would always seek out his emerald eyes and patient smile. Now, standing by the wall of the throne room that held a door to the courtyard, Alfred was too afraid to look for Arthur.

                The Queen of Spades and the man who had arrived late had been fervently talking for the last fifteen minutes, and neither of them showed signs of refuting or resigning their argument. More than once, Alfred had nearly stepped out into the courtyard with the simple mission of having Arthur in his company once more, but when he saw the sharp look that his husband gave the stranger, he rethought the idea and remained by the door. Sure, his parents had told him that eavesdropping was impolite, but listening to Arthur politely argue with a stranger was more interesting than hearing a stranger tell him how young and inexperienced he was.

                “I believe there was some sort of miscommunication, Arthur,” the stranger said smoothly, like there was no real reason to be arguing. Alfred heard Arthur scoff.

                “There was no miscommunication. Spades received your declaration, and although you may be used to breaking social protocol, we of Spades do not go back on our word.”

                Alfred began to gather that Arthur was arguing with the man that sent the letter saying a different kingdom was siding with their enemy. If that was true, it was easy to understand why Arthur was angry. Why was the man who refused their treaty at a celebration for their kingdom?

                “Now, listen here, Arthur –”

                There was the distinct sound of glass hitting a hard surface as Arthur tilted his glass of water to push against the brass buttons of the stranger. “I will not be told what to do, you bumbling, babbling buffoon. You may be a king, but not in this kingdom. You are in Spades, and I am royalty here.”

                Nervous chuckling. “Honestly, our level of companionship is –”

                “’Companionship?’” Arthur interrupted again, and Alfred bit his lip at the sharp tone Arthur’s normally soothing voice took. “There is no companionship. We have met in person… how many times? Three? Four? There is hardly enough familiarity between us to call what we have ‘companionship.’”

                More chuckling, but this one was haughty. “Would you like to call it more, Your Majesty?”

                A pause. Alfred held his breath and waited for Arthur’s reply. When Arthur spoke, it was breathless and surprised, as if he was dizzy and didn’t understand the question. “I beg your pardon?”

                When Alfred heard a rustle of fabric, his stomach churned. He felt angry and confused at the idea of someone else coming onto Arthur, and a bit hurt that Arthur didn’t immediately refuse.

                “Arthur, you need to know that the declaration was just… a ruse.” Alfred’s face twisted into a scowl as the man continued to speak. “To keep my kingdom safe from Samuel and his armies. You must understand that I still want your trust.”

                There was another rustle of fabric, and the almost inaudible sound of the water in Arthur’s glass spilling over the rim and onto the pavement. “Don’t touch me. I understand that Stratian has rejected the treaty of Spades and its alliance. You’ve knelt down to Samuel and devoted your strengths to him... I cannot trust you.”

                “Arthur, you can trust me… I’ll do anything to help you understand that.” Alfred felt more angry than sick when there was the sound of a small physical altercation, but didn’t dare to interrupt when Arthur responded.

                “I told you to _not_ touch me. And as for your persuasion… how would your lady wife take to the news such a vulgar offer?”

                The King of Stratian let out another low laugh, and Alfred felt his hands form fists. “Let us not mind her. You deserve to be shown devotion, Arthur. Your _child_ of a king will never be your true king, nor will he give you any such devotion –”

                There was a splash of water, and the King of Stratian began to sputter and cough. Looking around the corner, Alfred saw Arthur with his cup overturned and the other king’s face covered in water that was quickly running down his face and onto his traditional looking clothes.

                “I said _don’t_ touch me, Garrison. You’ll do well to remember that. Our alliance is over and done, and I will never trust you again, nor would I want any such devotion from a worthless man such as yourself.”

                Arthur turned to the doorway and caught Alfred’s eye before spotting a palace worker standing a meager two feet away. Walking away from King Garrison of Stratian, Arthur placed his empty cup onto the tray that the palace worker held and gave one swift order of, “Remove that man from my palace,” before turning away from the young man and joining Alfred by the wall.

                Alfred parted his lips to speak, but couldn’t quite find the right words to say to his new husband. What could he say to him after a traitorous man had come to their palace and offered Arthur sexual favors in return for the trust of Spades?

                “Relax, Alfred. He’s gone now.”

                Arthur spoke to him in a hushed tone, taking his fisted left hand and running his thumb over the back of it. Alfred blinked. Why was he still tense? Arthur was standing next to him, devoted and kind as ever. This thought made Alfred smile just a bit. His bond with Arthur was the reason Arthur’s presence was calming and his touch was more soothing than anything he’d ever experienced, and Alfred was more than happy to admit he was glad it was growing stronger. Maybe it was small now, but his relationship with Arthur was growing. They already took each other’s hand without much hesitation, and sought the other out amid a crowd. And now Arthur had done was refuse love from another person, and that made Alfred’s heart swell with emotion.

                “Alfred, there are two things I want you to learn from this,” Arthur said softly, holding Alfred’s hand loosely as he spoke.

                Alfred looked to Arthur, taking in the light suggestion of a smile on his pale lips before responding. “Yes?”

                Arthur’s smile grew. “First: you should never eavesdrop. It is the epitome of a social faux pas.” Alfred nodded slowly, as if this was something he was going to give considerable thought. Arthur turned his gaze on Alfred, looking him dead in the eyes and saying the words that Alfred had never known he’d wanted to hear. “Second: don’t let _anyone_ tell you that you aren’t good enough. I believe that you will be a great king.”

                And with that, Arthur let go of his hand and started off toward the masses of people once more. Alfred followed the gleam of his golden hair and the wave of his silver cloak through the room for a solid minute before he pushed away from the wall in pursuit of his husband.


	6. Floris

                Alfred was bored. Boredom was not a thing that he often enjoyed surviving. Only a few months ago, he had sat through the twenty-some minutes after he’d finished an exam, waiting for the remainder of the class to finish so that he could leave. He had fallen asleep in the middle of a sermon in church, much to his parents’ discretion and embarrassment. He had even lived through the experience of sofa shopping with his mother. Needless to say, Alfred didn’t enjoy boredom, and as he sat in Arthur’s study, intent on behaving, he could feel his patience diminishing.

                The Queen sat at his desk, moving a black, quill pen over the paper in front of himself quietly before glancing at another piece of paper, reading something, and returning to scratching his smooth font over the paper. Alfred bounced his right leg while he sat on the far sofa, ignoring to the map that Arthur had given him to study when he had first come into the room. He had finished his lessons with Arthur and was left with nothing to do to burn away the long hours of the afternoon.

“Arthur, I can’t do this anymore,” Alfred said bluntly, picking the map up and dropping it atop the small table in front of him. Arthur simply looked at the young man over the rim of his reading glasses for just a moment before returning his eyes to his paperwork with a smug smile. “I am literally dying of boredom.”

“Literally? My goodness, I’ll tell Yao to document this situation in the historical texts immediately,” Arthur droned, turning the piece of parchment in front of him over and reading whatever was scrawled on the back.

The King frowned hard enough for the corners of his lips to tingle with tension and his cheeks to hurt. Arthur was so dismissive when he was working. He wanted to help his new husband, but Arthur would shoo him away to work on his geography or riding lessons. Granted, he enjoyed hanging out with the knights and guards in training and getting lost in the castle, but he could have done without the geography. Leaning back to melt into the sofa cushions, Alfred let his head loll to the side, staring at Arthur. He was diligently working on something, reaching up every few moments to adjust his reading glasses or brush a piece of hair from his eyes. They were natural movements, but all Alfred could see was the graceful flick of Arthur’s wrist and sensual flutter of his eyelashes.

“You are literally the meanest person I’ve ever met,” Alfred said bitterly. His stomach felt like it was hosting a flock of butterflies, and they took flight when he saw a smile bloom on the Queen’s lips and he received a pointed look over the edge of his glasses.

There was a smile on Alfred’s lips as well, but the dull amusement in his blue eyes didn’t quite match the sharpness in Arthur’s jade irises. Arthur took his reading glasses and set them aside while he held the paper in front of him at an angle that Alfred was sure to help him see the words.

“And you are literally distracting me, Your Highness,” Arthur replied, turning over a piece of paper.

“You’re so mean.”

“I think you meant to say that I am _literally_ so mean,” Arthur said without lifting his eyes from his desk.

Alfred snorted but didn’t give up. “Come on,” he said lazily as he pushed himself up from the sofa and stretched his arms over his head in an obvious display of how tired he was. Arthur rolled his eyes. “Please, please, _please,_ let’s do something else than sit and be bored. I am _literally_ begging you. Let’s go do something.”

                Taking a moment to scoff and remove his glasses, Arthur smiled at Alfred warmly. “’Bored?’ Alfred, you’ve only been King of Spades for nineteen hours. Surely, a moment to relax and let everything sink in is not too tall of an order.”

                “I don’t want to relax,” Alfred groaned in response, rolling his shoulders back to hear the pleasant _pop_ and _crack_ of his joints. “I want to move! I want to see Spades and…” he shrugged before giving Arthur a longing stare. “I want you to come with me.”

                Arthur raised an eyebrow, but made no move to stand up from his desk. On the contrary, he seemed rather pleased to remain where he was and keep working on his papers, but there was a slight shift in the atmosphere of the room. Arthur sat back in his chair and turned his gaze to the open doors that led to the balcony, apparently pondering Alfred’s invitation. The sweet, smooth moments like these that Alfred wouldn’t have trouble enduring while he was with Arthur. The times when Arthur listened, smiled, and spoke to him with his smooth, calm voice, were blissful moments in Spades. They were the moments that made Alfred’s cheek flush and his lips to turn up in a smile.

                “You really want to run away from the palace that badly?”

                Alfred held up his hands in surrender. “Who ever said ‘run away?’ I never said run away. I just want to get _out_. We’ll come back eventually, but I just want to go and walk around. I’ll go stir-crazy if I stay inside this palace any longer.”

This only prompted another roll of Arthur’s eyes, and Alfred fell back down onto the couch in submission. “ _Or,_ ” Alfred muttered as he casted a weary glance at the maps on the table. “We could just stay here. You’ll look at your papers, I’ll sit and stare at my maps, and we’ll both just turn into giant piles of dust.”

There was a slight rustling from Arthur’s desk, indicating the Queen was either trying to ignore or drown out his husband. Alfred didn’t stop. If there was anything he could proudly do in Spades, it was annoy Arthur into submission. More than once, he had gotten Arthur to stop talking about the Galtrean War and instead tell him about his one hundred years as Queen. It was insightful, if not interesting. Arthur had found a new trade export of herbs that helped the Kingdom of Spades out of its past debt from several wars in the past and in turn lowered the taxes on the people of Spades. Arthur hadn’t bragged, but he made it clear that the happiness of the citizens of Spades was something that he had always wanted.

Taking his eyes from the maps on the table to give Arthur a sidelong glance, Alfred watched Arthur’s small smile as he continued to annoy him.

                “After we turn to dust, we’ll go down in history of the only Queen and King of Spades that _literally_ died from boredom.” Arthur covered his laughter with a delicate, gloved hand. Alfred smiled in response as he continued. “People will write books about it. They’ll sing songs. It’ll be like –”

                “For heaven’s sake, get up,” Arthur laughed, pushing his chair back and walking around his desk to the door.

                Alfred jumped away from the sofa and put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders as he walked behind the Queen, eager to follow. “Where are we going?”

                “Let go of me, Alfred,” Arthur said fondly, leading Alfred into the hall and down the stairs. “You’re getting what you want, boy… we’re going out.”

+++++

                “Is this really necessary?” Alfred questioned as he held onto Winnifred’s reigns with a steadfast grip.

                Arthur stood safe and sound on the ground, laughing as he helped guide Alfred’s right foot into the stirrup. His white gloves had been exchanged for brown, leather, riding gloves that were so worn, Alfred thought they were silk when their hands met.

                “We’ll be traveling for quite a distance, Alfred,” Arthur said as he lifted Alfred’s hands and repositioned the reigns. “If you’d rather walk, it would be dark before we reached our destination.”

                Wrinkling his nose at the idea of riding Winnifred for an extended period of time, Alfred watched Arthur walk around to pet the horse’s big, brown nose. “Wait. Where is our destination? Are we going to see the entire capital or something? Because if we’re just going to the capital, I’d rather walk.”

                Arthur didn’t respond to the statement and instead opted to greet the dappled grey horse that Cherche brought to them.

                “Thank you, Cherche. I’m glad you brought me Wynd, and not Clover... she doesn’t seem up to riding these days,” Arthur hummed as he pulled himself up onto the saddle.

                Cherche shrugged, patting Wynd’s neck affectionately. “I think Clover’s feeling a bit under, but I’ll be keeping an eye on her, just as I always do.”

                “Very good,” Arthur nodded, taking a firm hold of the reigns and shifting on the saddle until he was satisfied. When he was seated happily, he looked to Alfred and smiled. “Shall we go, Alfred?”

                Alfred gave him an ambiguous gesture to the entire riding corral. “You never told me _where_ we’re going.”

                “Precisely,” the Queen murmured, his green eyes twinkling with mirth that only Alfred was truly allowed to see. “Do try to keep up. The woods behind the palace can become quite dense, and I’d rather not have to send out a search party to find you.”

                Alfred blinked spastically, feeling his hands grip the reigns tighter out of fear. “W-what? Search party? You’re gonna let me get lost in the forest?”

                Before Alfred could finish, Arthur had kicked his heel back and sent his horse forward at a steady trot across the corral and toward the newly opened gates, calling to Alfred over his shoulder as he went. “I won’t let you get lost if you keep up, Alfred! Come along now.”

                Leaning forward to look at Winnifred’s unflinching brown eyes and whispering a quick, “He’s crazy, right?” before sitting back and dragging his fingers through her coarse mane. He wanted to follow Arthur into the woods and see whatever secret place Arthur had hidden away there. Hell, he wanted to follow Arthur wherever the man went. His presence was addicting and satisfying. Whether it was a conversation or silence, Arthur filled the room with a sense of calmness that echoed down into Alfred’s core, like coming in from the cold and taking a drink of hot cocoa.

                That said, he’d probably follow Arthur to the end of the kingdom if the man wanted him to, but the horse beneath him was setting his nerves to frayed anxiety. Alfred wasn’t a very good rider. He’d gotten used to Winnifred’s walk, learning to control his abdominal muscles and hold his posture as she went around the corral, but it was the idea of trotting or galloping that terrified him.

“You need to use control,” Cherche had told him strictly, poking at his stomach until he swatted her hand away. Not to mention if he wanted to keep up with Arthur at a trot or gallop, he would have the added responsibility of bouncing to avoid injuring Winnifred’s back.

                “Alfred, are you all right?”

Alfred lifted his eyes from the ground to see Arthur waiting for him just outside the corral gate, relaxed and smiling at him. Alfred looked at those brilliant eyes. The eyes that had given him comfort and sparked arguments, seeing through his lax attitudes and nonchalant expressions to find what he was really feeling. He would follow Arthur to the end of the world and listen to whatever wondrous thing Arthur would say but more than anything, he wanted those green eyes to search for him, and lock onto his own gaze, not looking at anyone else.

                Without even thinking, Alfred steered Winnifred forward and let his body move with hers as she settled into a smooth canter. As Arthur’s smile grew, Alfred felt his own lips respond in kind, and they were off. Beyond the east courtyard and past the soldier’s training grounds that lay behind the palace, Arthur led him through a secret opening in the gates, around the palace and into the forest.

                When Arthur had said that the forest behind the palace was dense, it was the understatement of the century. As soon as the pair rode through the tree line, sunlight was nearly extinguished, leaving them to find their way in the night-like woods. The sounds of the palace were lost to the eerie creaks of trees and the occasional trill of a birdcall, and, were it a bit brighter, Alfred would’ve appreciated the peace that came with the quiet. The heavy steps of the horses’ hooves on fresh grass and soil made a steady beat, and Alfred allowed Arthur to set a quick but even pace through the trees, following some unmarked trail.

                Spring was settling in comfortably in the forest, and the trees were bursting with life. Green leaves dipped down from sleepy branches to catch on Alfred’s hair and eager flowers reached up to greet him. The leaves were distracting, and the majority of the flowers were small, white blooms that were no doubt weeds, but it was still beautiful in its own way. As the minutes began to grow long and heavy with silence, Alfred cleared his throat and called up to Arthur to break up the quietness.

                “It’s nice here,” he said, waiting for a response. Arthur nodded but didn’t speak, snapping his reigns and giving some sort of signal to Wynd so he didn’t trip over a large root. Alfred slowed Winnifred and painstakingly steered her around the five-foot-wide obstruction before bringing her back up to a comfortable canter. “It’s really dark, though. Is it always this dark? I bet it is… you probably come here a lot.”

                “In the winter, the branches are bare,” Arthur said over the sound of the horses, reaching up a hand to brush the leaves above his head as if to recall the memory of them being gone. “And the light can come through these empty branches. You can see the forest go on for forever, and the snow coats everything in white…”

                Alfred took a second to imagine Arthur wrapped up in a heavy cloak, wandering through the forest on his horse to avoid the stress and strain of palace affairs. He could almost see the bleak landscape of the empty forest and just barely feel the brumal chill that would make Arthur pull his cloak closer and shy away from the wind. From the dull tone in Arthur’s words, the winter wonderland that was the forest was something the Queen didn’t enjoy all that much. Perhaps it was the silence that kept reminding him that he was alone. Or maybe it was the lack of color that drained the man of his warm spirits. Either way, the way Arthur spoke was troubling to Alfred, and he wanted to brighten his husband’s day.

                “Well,” Alfred said loudly enough to shake Arthur from his own silent musings and turn to look at Alfred over his shoulder. “If it wasn’t dark here, we wouldn’t really appreciate the light on the outside of the forest.”

                That pulled a smile to Arthur’s face, and the Queen turned his eyes forward again with a slow nod. “That’s very true.”

+++++

                “We’ve been riding for, like, _forever_. Let’s take a break.” Alfred groaned as Arthur led him at a slow walk toward the end of the forest.

                “I do recall _you_ being the one that begged me to let him out of the palace,” Arthur countered, dragging his fingers across the bark of a tree that he passed. “Besides, you shouldn’t worry. We’re nearly there.”

                Whether it had been hours or days, Alfred didn’t know. It all blended together with the sight of Arthur casting wary glances at him over his shoulder as they kept riding, keeping the destination secret the entire time. The only clue was that the farther they went, the more colorful the route became. Hues of violet started to stain certain leaves and flammeous crimsons began to appear in the small flowers at their feet. They were probably some kind of landmark, but Alfred didn’t know what it meant.

                “You said we were almost there a while ago.”

                “I said no such thing,” Arthur objected.

                Alfred nodded to himself. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you did.”

                “Alfred, I never –”

                “Do you need to stop and ask for directions?” Arthur didn’t bother to stifle his chuckle at that one. Alfred smiled. “I’m pretty sure that’s a ‘no.’ What is it with men and not wanting to ask for directions? I mean if we’re lost, I’m sure anyone would be glad to help a pretty guy like you –”

                “Alfred,” Arthur interrupted, pulling his horse to a stop. Alfred was quick to follow suit, feeling Winnifred huff and whip her tail from side to side. “We’re here, so there’s no need to…” Arthur laughed again before letting out a quiet, “Ask for directions.”

                “Uh-huh,” Alfred hummed in response, watching how Arthur swung his leg over the side of his horse and dismounted smoothly. Apparently, Arthur was just going to ignore the comment on his lovely appearance, though it was supposed to be a compliment. While Alfred half-slid and half-slipped from his saddle, he watched the way Arthur pat his horse’s neck and wandered away through the trees, getting caught up in the leaves and flowers. “Arthur?”

                Alfred looked to Winnifred, and gave her a quiet “Stay,” before following after Arthur through the trees. The grass that Arthur walked on was clear of flowers and roots, like it had been fixed years ago. Alfred raised an eyebrow at the idea, deciding that Arthur probably _had_ fixed the path years ago. He loved the garden and all of the various plants in it, so why would the flowers of the forest be any less valuable to him?

                “Arthur?” Alfred called again, seeing the late, afternoon sun pour through the gaps of the trees as they stepped out of the forest. There was a mere fifteen feet of grass that extended the forest floor until there was a clean, sheer drop. The cliff overlooked the capital city of Spades, giving Alfred an entirely new view of the world he had inherited. “Wow.”

                The Queen folded his arms over his chest and sighed peacefully as he looked over the cliff. “I hope this is what you wanted, Alfred. You’re seeing Spades.”

“No kidding,” Alfred said breathlessly, ducking down to avoid getting hit in the face by a low hanging bundle of flowers. “This is amazing.”

Arthur hummed in agreement, hanging back by the trees. When Alfred turned back to smile at him Arthur smiled and ducked his face, reaching out to touch the wavy petals of a daisy. “This is my secret place. Where I come to hide away.”

“Wait. You? Hiding? The horror.”

                Arthur rolled his eyes. “Very funny, but the palace can be quite smothering, at times. Like now, for example… Samuel is branching his reach out across the outlands, and I...” There was pain in Arthur expression when he plucked the daisy from its branch and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m growing weary of the kingdoms around us.”

                Alfred shifted his weight from his left to his right foot uncomfortably. “Are we in trouble? We… we’re not going to be starting a war, right?” When Arthur continued to look down at the flower in his hands, Alfred swallowed. “Arthur, is there going to be a war?”

                “This is supposed to be safe place, Alfred,” Arthur lifted his eyes to catch his husband’s unsteady stare. “A place where we don’t have to be King and Queen of Spades. For a moment, can we not worry about this?”

                “You want to pretend?”

                “Would you rather face the idea of an imminent war?” Arthur shook his head with a smile at the idea, as if reality was a silly concept. Stepping up to Alfred and handing him the daisy, Arthur melted Alfred’s heart with another smile. “Enjoy the view, Alfred. Life is simpler if we allow ourselves these little pleasures.”

                With a huff, Alfred looked down at the daisy while Arthur made a round of the rose bushes, casually casting glances at Alfred over his shoulder as he went. No doubt about it, the place was beautiful. The grass clearing was lined with flowers that Alfred had only seen in the garden, each of them in bloom and waiting to be admired. Bushes of wild lilac grew happily in the wilderness, reaching up to grow along tree branches so the flowers would drip down and crown the people below them. Roses of all colors hid their sharp thorns beneath the large petals of a purple flower Alfred couldn’t name.

                “So,” Alfred said, gaining Arthur’s attention from the hanging lilacs. “You’ve known about this place for a while, right?”

                Arthur giggled a bit, albeit nervously, before responding. “Oh, I’ve known about this place since I was very young. Before I became Queen, in fact. I found this clearing when I was…” Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise as he counted the years. “Fourteen-years-old, I believe. Goodness… that was a long time ago.”

                “I bet,” Alfred smiled at the idea of Arthur being smaller and wide-eyed with wonder, finding a beautiful view of Spades by lucky happenstance. First Arthur could see magic that no one else could, and then he was finding beautiful, secret places. “It must’ve been really cool.”

                “Well, when I first found this place, none of these flowers were here,” Arthur said, giving the flora around them a scrutinizing glance. “A few small bluebells here and there, but all of the other flowers I brought and planted here.”

                “Sounds messy,” Alfred said brightly, looking at the different flowers he didn’t know. Arthur had to know all of them if he’d brought them there. “So. You know all of the flowers here? Like, all of them?”

                Arthur smiled down at a burgundy-colored rose, pulling off his riding gloves to take one petal away and hold it in his palm. “Of course. I know each name and meaning.”

                Alfred squinted. “’Meaning?’”

                “Yes, many flowers have meanings... do they not have such meanings where you come from?” Arthur gave Alfred a sincerely flabbergasted look, drawing his eyebrows together breathing a surprised laugh when Alfred shrugged. “You lived in a strange world, Alfred.”

                Giving Arthur another shrug, Alfred looked around the clearing and pursed his lips. Arthur didn’t want to think of being Queen, and Alfred was more than happy to distract him. Marching over to the rose bushes where Arthur stood, Alfred pointed to the unidentified purple flowers and asked innocently, “What are these flowers?”

                Arthur raised his eyebrows and gave the flowers a cautious glance. “Those are hyacinth flowers, Alfred.”

                “Uh-huh… that’s cool,” Alfred nodded slowly. “But what do they mean?”

                “If you were to give them to someone, they would convey the message ‘please forgive me.’” Arthur said softly, touching the clusters of purple blooms gently.

                Alfred pointed to the roses next. “And these?”

                “Burgundy roses… unconscious beauty.”

                Turning around and finding small, blue flowers nestled at the base of a nearby tree, Alfred waved at them fervently. “And those?”

                Arthur laughed lightly, shaking his head and giving Alfred a fond look. “Forget-me-not.”

                Alfred turned in a circle, trying to test Arthur even further. “What about those?” He asked, jabbing a finger at a thin row of lavender.

                “Mistrust,” Arthur sighed, only looking at the row for a moment before stepping closer to the cliff edge to overlook Spades.

                Alfred frowned. He had made Arthur smiled just a second ago. How could a small batch of lavender kill the mood? Narrowing his eyes at the small, purple nuisance for a moment, Alfred licked his lips and fought to find a different flower to distract Arthur with. Arthur loved the flowers, so one of them had to be better than the lavender. Looking up, Alfred saw the lilac he had to duck to avoid hitting hanging lavender.

                “Do these mean mistrust, too?”                He asked Arthur quietly, reaching up and pulling one bunch of the flowers from the branch.

                Arthur turned from the view to smile at the flower in his hands. “No, it doesn’t.”

                Alfred waited for the real meaning to come floating from Arthur’s lips and into his ears, but it never came. The Queen of Spades merely lowered his eyes to the grass and wrapped his arms around his torso. It was like watching someone trying to hold themselves together after something had torn them to pieces, cold and alone. Casting a quick look at the flowers in his hands, Alfred sauntered over to Arthur and thrust them out to his husband.

                “For you,” Alfred said with an air of dignity, watching Arthur’s eyes go wide as he looked at the lilacs. “Come on, take ‘em.”

                Arthur’s cheeks flared a brilliant shade of pink that was accentuated by the pale light of the setting sun, and Alfred felt the corner of his own lips turn up with Arthur smiled down at the blooms. “I… thank you, Alfred. I love lilacs.”

                Playing cool, Alfred shrugged and adjusted his glasses nonchalantly. “No big deal. They’re just flowers.”

                “Of course…” Arthur agreed half-heartedly, and Alfred turned to see his husband running the tip of his finger over the silken flower petals.

                It was late in the day, and the warmth of the sun was fading, but Alfred could feel everything from his head to his toes overheat at the sight of Arthur admiring the flowers. His sharp, green eyes were mellowed out into something as soft as the flower petals under his fingers, and Alfred couldn’t imagine any better feeling than the one he was experiencing in his chest. It made his priorities of getting home take a serious turn in a strange direction. The more time he spent with Arthur, the more he wanted to stay in Spades. But was one man enough to keep him away from his real family for the rest of his life?

Alfred licked his lips and looked out over the cliff. He could easily see himself falling for Arthur. The man was smart, clever, easily flustered, and secretly kind, not to mention gorgeous. Shaking his head just a bit, Alfred silently reprimanded himself; he already knew that he was falling for Arthur. It had all been in the works since his first week in Spades. Whether or not Alfred’s brain reasoned that he should want to go home and see his parents, his heart couldn’t really discern whether home was with his parents or with Arthur.

Blinking hard, Alfred tried to push the heavy thoughts from his mind and focus on the landscape around him. Arthur had sat down on the grassy ground, turning the bundle of flowers in his hands while watching the sun swim sleepily over the hilly horizon. Giving his husband a cautious look, Alfred began to wonder what the meaning of the lilacs was once more.

“So, what do they mean?” He asked as he sat down next to Arthur, propping his hands back on the grass and leaning his weight against them.

Arthur’s eyelids fluttered as he turned to Alfred, seemingly lost in thought. “Pardon?”

“The flowers,” Alfred pointed at the purple blooms. “What do they mean?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Arthur said slowly, looking back to the sunset. “If you give them without the knowing the message, the meaning is useless.”

                Alfred hummed thoughtfully, wiggling his feet back and forth. “You sure know a lot about flowers.”

                “I love all plants,” Arthur assured quickly. “When I was younger, my father would bring me a journal from each of his travels filled with pressed flowers and leaves.”

                Alfred’s ears perked up at the mention of parents. Arthur had never spoken about _his_ parents before. Alfred had blabbered about his own folks for what seemed like hours when he was in the garden with Arthur before he’d become King. It was a good way to vent his homesickness and let Arthur know more about him, but Arthur had never shared his own lineage in return. He would merely smile and remark that Alfred’s parents sounded like wonderful people, completely hiding his own origins from the light of day. For the most part, Alfred had assumed it was because his parents were dead or simply too horrible to mention.

                “Your dad?” He asked innocently, hearing Arthur hum in response. “Okay… so, he traveled a lot? Does he still travel?”

                “He traveled quite a bit, yes. When he was younger, he was a mercenary for hire and traveled with a group of merchants that wanted to be safe during their own travels.” Arthur smiled fondly at the idea, and Alfred felt his heartstrings being pulled at the sight. “He met my mother by coincidence… the palace noblewoman and the mercenary. It sounds like a fairytale.”

                Alfred smiled when Arthur laughed at the idea, but he could tell this story wasn’t going to end with a “happily ever after.” As Arthur continued, he stared out at the capital city while plucking at the lilacs, tearing them apart without notice.

                “She was married to another man… my mother, I mean to say. She’d already had a child with him, and was supposedly ‘happy.’ But, she found ways to slip away from her husband’s sight to meet my father. Terrible idea, that one. Just terrible…” Arthur laughed the words, but there was no humor in the sound. “When my father left once more, bound for the Outlands, my mother said that she’d wait for him.”

                Glancing down at the tattered flowers, Alfred watched as Arthur continued to idly pull apart the blooms. “She didn’t, did she?”

                Arthur laughed louder at the question, rocking forward and shaking his head. “Good heavens, no! My mother pretended that their love affair had never occurred, and her husband never learned the truth. He died without knowing it, in fact. I feel sorry for the man,” Arthur smiled at Alfred bitterly, all lips and hurt eyes. “This is hardly an interesting story, Alfred. I apologize.”

                “No, it’s interesting. You don’t normally talk about your parents, so…” Alfred’s words trailed off uncomfortably, unsure of where they were going. Arthur sighed.

                “For good reason. I was brought into this world and immediately hated. My mother assumed that if I looked like her, she wouldn’t have to explain my unfamiliar features to her husband if he ever asked. He never did ask why I had blonde hair and green eyes unlike either of them… but my mother always knew,” Arthur huffed, looking down at the torn flowers in his lap pitifully. “She always knew.”

                Alfred bit his lower lip, not sure how to make Arthur feel better. “Sounds rough,” he said dumbly, hearing Arthur make a vaguely amused puffing noise. “She’s not too nice, is she?”

                “No. No, she isn’t,” Arthur said sharply, worrying his own lip as he pulled the rest of his beloved flowers apart. “In my view, at least. But the rest of the world never got to see what I saw. Being the living proof of my mother’s infidelity, I was hidden from the world for most of my young life. Hardly anyone knew who I was until I was seven years old.”

                “Sounds _really_ rough,” Alfred corrected himself, feeling his own brain shrivel and die from his stupidity when it came to comfort. He shook his head and reached out a tentative hand to pat Arthur’s shoulder. “But, at least your dad knew about you, right? If he brought you that stuff, he had to know.”

                That, at the very least, made Arthur smile. “Yes, he knew _of_ me. But he never really got to _know_ me. He would only get to see me every few months, and even then, those meetings were very brief.” Arthur looked up to see the sun dipping low on the horizon before he continued. “When I was about five years-old, he stopped visiting. My mother received a letter that stated he had been killed in a bandit attack just outside of the Kingdom of Diamonds. I hadn’t truly understood it at the time, but I knew something was terribly wrong when she refused to speak to me anymore.”

                Alfred balked. “She didn’t talk to you? But… you’re her kid! Moms _always_ talk to their kids!”

                Arthur smiled at the jacinth rays of sunlight that washed over his face. “You live in a very innocent world, Alfred Jones. I envy you. Truly.”

                They sat in silence for a few moments, watching as the sun threatened to leave them in the coolness of night. Alfred had just heard the most horrible back-story in the history of back-stories. No superhero that rose from the ashes could compare their lives to Arthur’s. In Alfred’s eyes, having a superhero’s world blown to dust was _nothing_ in light of Arthur’s life. He had been born into the world unwanted, and the only person that might have wanted him died, leaving him with a horrible mother. Alfred couldn’t imagine living without his mother. And, on top of it all, he was married off to a tyrant. A lying, cheating tyrant that wasn’t even supposed to be King in the first place.

                Plainly put, Arthur had endured one of the most terrible lives Alfred could ever dare to imagine and still had the strength to stand up and guide an entire kingdom of people. And he did it all while not being able to sleep. Alfred frowned at the sun before taking a breath in preparation to speak to Arthur, only to be cut off by Arthur standing up.

                “Well,” Arthur said as he clapped his hands together, releasing several crushed flower petals from his palms. “We’d best be heading back. If we let the sun set, the woods will be pitch-black and difficult to navigate.”

                Alfred stood soon after, watching Arthur walk to the trees and let out a loud whistle. The sound of hooves echoing off of the trees could be heard only moments later, and Arthur merely smoothed the front of his grey vest while Alfred hung back by the cliff. They had been so close only moments ago, but Arthur’s dark mood had pushed the two of them apart. Alfred pursed his lips and looked up at the lilacs hanging just above Arthur’s head.

                “Come along, Alfred,” Arthur said softly, holding up a hand to greet the two horses as they came to a stop in front of him. Alfred watched as he pulled his riding gloves back onto his hands and stroked the noses of Winnifred and Wynd, not bothering to look back and see if Alfred would follow him as he called to his husband once more. “It’s late. We’d best be off.”

                Reaching up to snag another bundle of lilacs from the trees, Alfred took hold of Wynd’s reigns as Arthur mounted him, holding them steady so he could safely hand the flowers to Arthur. “Arthur… it must’ve been lonely. I’m sorry. If I’d known you back then, I would’ve talked to you.”

                Alfred watched carefully as Arthur’s eyes softened before he closed his eyes, sighed, and smiled. Before Alfred could ask what he’d done wrong, Arthur leaned down and took the flowers from his grasp before whispering three words that were dripping with an emotion Alfred couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

+++++

                “Flowers, flowers, flowers…” Alfred muttered to himself as he stormed the palace library. Yao shuffled along behind him, loyally holding an oil lamp up so Alfred didn’t run his shin into another bookshelf. “Are you sure the meanings of flowers are over here?”

                Yao yawned quietly before setting the oil lamp on the edge of the bookshelf. “Would you like me to find the book for you, Your Majesty? I’m sure that it would be faster if I –”

                “Ah-ha!” Alfred stated quickly, taking a book off of the shelf labelled _The Floriculturist’s Guide to the World_ and dropping it down on by the oil lamp. Yao bent over the book as well, watching Alfred turn several pages before backing up and rereading something he’d skipped.

                “What exactly are you looking for?”

                “Shush,” Alfred hissed, not wanting to risk Arthur hearing them. Granted, it was very unlikely for Arthur to come walking by the library at this time of night – the man hardly left his study at night – so there really was no need to whisper, but Alfred liked the idea of being a stealthy agent. “I’m looking for lilacs. Lilacs, Yao.”

                The Jack of Spades nodded sleepily. He had been talked out of retiring to bed by the King over an hour ago. Midnight was fast approaching, and Alfred had wanted to wait until everyone else had gone to bed. Alfred himself was far too awake. Arthur said he loved lilacs, and Alfred wanted nothing more than to see Arthur smile, but he wanted to make sure the message conveyed by the flowers wasn’t anything negative like the “mistrustful” lavender.

                “There, Your Highness,” Yao yawned, pointing a thin finger at the top of a page. “Lilac… scientific name, _Syringa_.”

                “Yeah, great…” Alfred mumbled, tracing a finger down the lines of plant description and growing habits until he found what he had been thinking about ever since he’d gotten home with Arthur. “Meaning: the first emotions of love.”

Alfred was quiet as he thought about it. He definitely wouldn’t fight the heady and sentimental feelings he felt for Arthur and would be more than happy to admit their existence. He wanted to make Arthur smile, and he wanted to comfort him when he was upset. Good and bad, he enjoyed experiencing every day with Arthur. Looking up at the Jack of Spades, Alfred smiled as the Yao arched a thin eyebrow.

“Well, the book doesn’t lie,” Alfred finally admitted. “It’s totally true.”


	7. Promitto

                More than once, Alfred felt himself wishing Arthur could sleep. Arthur would never be sluggish in the morning and he rarely ever yawned in front of anyone, but he couldn’t erase the dark circles under his eyes associated with sleep deprivation. Alfred would peek his head into the study just before he went to went to bed to find Arthur, without fail, sitting at his desk or in his armchair reading some sort of book or paperwork. No rest seemed to bless the Queen of Spades, however many solutions Alfred tried to find to help Arthur, he would happily drown in his blankets and not surface until morning.

                When he opened his eyes, Alfred always saw the sleepy blue color of his ceiling stained a sad, orange by a tired sun. He anticipated a friendly morning greeting from Fredrick and then a question of how he’d like his bath. But when Alfred woke that morning, he was not greeted by the sun-stained ceiling, and Fredrick didn’t greet him. Instead, the Queen of Spades sat on the edge of his bed, leaning over him with a hollow expression and lost eyes. Alfred sucked in a quick breath, trying to accept the fact that Arthur was in his bedroom. It was something straight out of a dream… or at the very least, a wonderful fantasy come true. His husband didn’t speak, but loomed over him with half-lidded eyes that searched for something Alfred couldn’t quite name. His pale lips turned up in a smile, and Alfred could almost feel a breath of laughter wash over his face.

                “Arthur?” He asked quietly, not daring to move from his place. Arthur reached forward to place a delicate finger to his lips to silence him.

                “Hush,” he whispered. “Someone will hear.”

                Alfred didn’t understand. Who would hear them whispering? It was crazy to assume the palace workers would listen in on their bedroom happenings. Then again, it was crazy for Arthur to be in his bedroom, looking at him the way that he was. Alfred didn’t have his glasses on, but he could see Arthur’s longing expression clearly. It was strange and arousing all at once. What was Alfred seeing and _how_ was he able to see it? Arthur didn’t give him a chance to question reality as he leaned forward, sliding his finger from his lips to caress Alfred’s cheek slowly. The behavior was almost discomforting, but Alfred was captivated by the way Arthur’s lips hovered over his own.

                “Alfred,” Arthur breathed quietly. “Alfred…”

                The speech caused their lips to brush, and Alfred could almost feel it. It was there, but not quite, like his senses were still half-asleep and his brain was refusing to fully function. He wanted to feel Arthur’s lips on his, and he wanted to be able to feel the whole kiss, not just part of it. Closing his eyes, Alfred took a breath just as Arthur pressed their mouths together.

His top lip was captured between Arthur’s, and there was definitely supposed to be pressure. But Alfred just couldn’t _feel_ it. He parted his lips and tried to kiss Arthur back, but there was nothing to kiss.

                Opening his eyes, Alfred looked up at his sleepy blue ceiling in confusion. Arthur wasn’t there, and his lips felt cold and untouched. Alfred sat up, trying to ignore the throbbing in his trousers as he grabbed his glasses from his nightstand. Each breath was hot and flustered and hot, and Alfred could feel a burning blush spreading from his cheeks to his chest. While he slowed his heaving breaths, the aching between his legs became more apparent with each heartbeat, and a voice from the other side of the room made Alfred jump.

                “Ah, good morning, Your Majesty,” Fredrick called brightly from the wardrobe, routinely pulling out a suitable outfit for the young King. Alfred grumbled something unintelligible, drawing up his knees to avoid letting Fredrick see his arousal predicament. “I trust you slept well.”

                “Yeah,” Alfred huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to rub the blush from his cheeks. “Just peachy.”

                Fredrick giggled at the statement and set a pale blue shirt on the table in the middle of the room. “Your voice doesn’t match your reply, sir.”

                “It’s just sarcasm, Freddy,” Alfred said gruffly, trying to ignore the burn in his thighs as he talked to the eleven-year-old. It felt wrong. Glaring at the clock on his bedside table, Alfred struggled to read where the hands were pointing before seeing he only had twenty minutes before he had to be out in the garden. That left him very little time to deal with his pressing erection. “Ya’ know, I think I want to make my own bath this morning.”

                Closing the wardrobe doors, Fredrick turned around to give Alfred a slightly hurt expression. “I… I can do it, Your Highness. It really is no trouble…”

                Alfred wiggled his toes to distract himself as he spoke. “I get that it’s your job, but I really just want to do this myself. Okay, buddy? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

                Fredrick turned his silver eyes to the ground and nodded slowly, tapping the tabletop lightly as he did. “Well, I have your clothes here. Would you like me to take them into the bathroom for you?”

                “No, I’ve got it,” Alfred assured quickly as he adjusted his glasses. “I can take it from here, Fredrick. Seriously. I know you have other chores to do, so…”

                “Right,” Fredrick agreed, shuffling to the doorway as Alfred sat in bed. “Well, I wish you a good day, Your Highness.”

                “You too,” Alfred said thinly, eager to jump into a cold bath. “Thanks for getting my clothes out for me.”

Fredrick combed a hand through his sandy hair before he gave the King a tentative smile, and closed the door behind him. As soon as Alfred heard the latch of the door click, he kicked off the blankets and rushed into the bathroom. Twenty minutes to figure out how the bathroom worked again. During his first few days in Spades, he had watched Fredrick deal with the mystical tablets that changed the water temperature and the liquids that were supposed to magically provide dental hygiene. But after seeing it a few times, Alfred opted to sleep in and just expect the bath to be ready when he woke up.

Now he wished he’d paid more attention. The bathtub sat on the far side of the bathroom, already filled with water. Alfred kneeled and dunked his hand into the water to feel the lukewarm temperature. Two tins of tablets sat on a shelf just above the tub; one blue, and one silver... he remembered Fredrick taking tablets from one tin, but he couldn’t remember which. He didn’t have time to sit and reminisce. Pulling the lid of the blue tin off, Alfred hissed and swore when several of the tablets tumbled into the water.

As the tablets slowly dissolved and worked their strange, Spades magic, Alfred tapped his hands on the side of the tub anxiously. If he had time, he would gladly just close his eyes and think of Arthur while his hands did the work, but, when he was done, he wouldn’t be able to sit still when he was alone with Arthur in the garden. His dream had presented him with a vision of Arthur that was hauntingly desirable and horribly out of reach. With half-lidded, green eyes that made his soul tremble and parted lips that begged to be kissed, Alfred’s dream Arthur merely confirmed his deeper desires.

“Fuck,” Alfred breathed as he grabbed himself through the front of his trousers, effectively making the situation worse when he recalled Arthur’s voice murmuring his name. Longingly, seductively… Alfred opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from his trousers to dip it into the water. Icy cold shocks met his fingers, and he eagerly stood up and pulled down his pants. “The shit I go through to be all pretty for you in the morning…”

Alfred grumbled as he lifted his leg and stepped into the tub, letting out one shrill shriek before dropping himself into the tub and trying to sit still as water sloshed over the edges of the tub.

++++++

                “Did Fredrick seem to be behaving oddly this morning?” Arthur asked as he poured a bit of cream into his tea. His tone of voice was pitched toward question, but the underlying concern was ringing true in his words. “He seemed rather troubled when I saw him in the hallway, but he didn’t want to discuss it.”

                Alfred stopped scooping up his fresh scrambled, eggs to allow himself time to think of a nice way to explain his reasons for kicking Fredrick out of his room. The bath had served its purpose, but he couldn’t very well tell Arthur why he had needed the freezing, cold bath. Discussing reasons and methods of masturbation over breakfast didn’t seem very proper.

                “Well, I just wanted some space this morning, so I told him he could leave,” Alfred said smoothly, watching as his husband’s face contorted into a scowl. “Anyway, he’s probably just bummed out that I didn’t want him to make my bath this morning.”

                Putting down his teacup, Arthur gave Alfred a wide-eyed stare. “You wanted space. Are you unwell? Ill, perhaps?”

                Alfred laughed off the worried glint in Arthur’s eyes. “I’m fine. Just wanted some time alone… that’s all.”

                Not even a second had passed before Arthur was out of his chair and tugging off his white gloves. Alfred swallowed nervously as he looked up at his husband, following the smooth line of his thin shoulders down to the curve of his hips and the long, graceful cut of his trousers. Needless to say, Arthur was a walking heartthrob just as always, and Alfred had little trouble imagining just how smooth Arthur’s skin would be underneath all of those layers.

                Alfred licked his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid his mind of dirty thoughts, only to have a cold hand pressed to his cheek. Opening his eyes quickly with a gasp, he found himself looking into Arthur’s green irises.

                “You feel warm,” Arthur breathed nervously, taking his hand from Alfred’s cheek and placing the back of his hand to Alfred’s forehead slowly. “Are you sure you’re not feeling ill? I’d gladly call for a healer, if need be.”

                Not quite sure how to respond, Alfred held still as Arthur’s deft fingers brushed hair from his forehead and cupped his cheeks. Arthur seemed genuinely shaken at the idea of him being sick, and was being the most improper Alfred had ever seen him behave. For the most part, Arthur made it a rule to leave at least a foot of distance between the two of them – excluding the times when Alfred would reach out for Arthur’s hand. But now, their breaths mingled in the shared place, and when Arthur’s lips parted around the syllables of Alfred’s name, the young King found himself enraptured by the action before he tore his eyes away from Arthur’s mouth.

                “I’m fine,” he assured Arthur with a shy smile. Seeing the Queen’s gaze flicker over every inch of his face before returning to his eyes. “Seriously. I feel fine. I just had a weird dream last night, and wanted to have some space. I’m okay, Arthur.”

                Closing his eyes, Arthur released a long sigh as his hands remained stationed on Alfred’s cheeks. Alfred knew that the faint flare of pink that bloomed across Arthur’s cheeks was not a coincidence. He could’ve said something about it, but it would shatter whatever small shred of peace his husband was gaining from their close proximity. Arthur would get flustered and walk away. So, for Arthur’s peace of mind, Alfred leaned his cheek into Arthur’s waiting palm and allowed himself to be coddled.

                When Arthur opened his eyes, he retracted his hands and moved to put his gloves back on with a sniff. “I’m glad,” he said quietly as he returned to his seat. Alfred didn’t say anything in response and the rest of the meal was finished in silence.

+++++

                “Yao, if I ask you something… something _personal_ , will you give me a straight answer?”

                The Jack of Spades lifted his eyes from a large stack of papers that he’d been writing on to look at Alfred with a blank expression. His long brown hair had been braided sloppily – Alfred guessed one of the younger palace workers had asked to do it – and was falling across Yao’s brow in a way that made the man look irritated. Alfred stood before him anxiously, tapping his thighs with the tips of his fingers while Yao gave him a considering once-over.

                “Why do you ask, Your Highness?”

                “Something happened in the garden this morning, and I just want to know why it happened,” Alfred said loosely, shrugging his shoulders as if his request for confidential information was nothing more than a nonchalant inquiry. “I just want to know. That’s all. And I’m King of Spades, so I should get to know… right?”

                Yao made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat as he sat back in his chair. When his hair fell into his eyes, Yao took a moment to pull it from its braid and redo it, glancing up at Alfred through heavy eyelashes.

                “I don’t know if I’d be willing to disclose any personal information, Your Majesty… no matter who you are, there are limits to what a person _can_ and _should_ know.”

                Alfred groaned and stepped forward to press his palms against the surface of Yao’s desk in the library, leaning his weight onto them. “Just hear me out,” he muttered, watching Yao raise a skeptical eyebrow as he spun his glossy hair together easily. “Arthur was really freaked out about me getting sick –”

                Yao’s eyes went wide and his hands paused their ministrations to his hair. “Are you unwell, Sire?”

                Shaking his head quickly, Alfred threw his hands into the air. “What? No! I’m not sick. Why is everyone so afraid of me getting sick? We have bigger things to worry about. Like, that one guy… Samuel. He’s plotting to overthrow Spades. Let’s worry about that!”

                With a quiet sigh, Yao tied the end of his hair with his trademark sapphire, satin ribbon before he stood up and walked around his desk. “We will worry about Samuel when the Queen has decided it is a fit time to worry,” he said smoothly as he led Alfred around the tall shelves of the library. “However, worrying about someone falling ill is no small matter. A kingdom can rebuild itself after its destruction or devastation; a King cannot accomplish such an amazing feat.”

                “Yeah. I know how life works, Yao,” Alfred mumbled. “You live and then you die. Except if you’re King or Queen of the Card Kingdoms… then you just live until some magical force –”

                “Fate,” Yao interjected.

                “Yeah, sure… you live until fate decides you’re unworthy and you die. Or if someone kills you…” Alfred grimaced at his own words, but continued. “But getting sick isn’t that big of a deal, right? Arthur said he could call for a healer…”

                Yao stopped to pull a book from a shelf, staring at the cover while he spoke. “A healer can only do so much, you see… Where we do have charms to keep away death, we do not have the ability to fool it completely.”

                Alfred frowned and muttered a frustrated, “I don’t get it.”

                Yao sighed and placed the book back on the shelf. “The Queen has been alive for a very long time, Your Highness. He has witnessed the birth of three generations and the death of two. He is no stranger to the ultimatum of death when it comes to life.”

                Alfred’s cheeks began to hurt when his frown grew. “I still don’t get it. Speak English.”

                With a sad smile, Yao turned to Alfred and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Arthur Kirkland, the Queen of Spades, has been alive for one hundred and twenty-two years. He’s been waiting for very a long time. He’s watched other people’s lives pass him by as he stood frozen in time… alone,” Yao gave Alfred’s shoulder a squeeze. “He’s been waiting for his King to come to him and make his soul complete. I don’t see why you have so much trouble understanding that he doesn’t want any harm to come to you.”

                Alfred squinted at Yao as he dropped his hand and started to walk away. In a kind of backwards way, Yao was saying that Arthur didn’t want him to be in pain. Or maybe Arthur just didn’t want to wait a really long time for the next King to come along. Either way, it meant that in some way, Arthur cared about him.

                “So,” Alfred called, following Yao around the library like an overgrown puppy. “What you’re saying is, Arthur doesn’t want me to be sick because…” Alfred raised his eyebrows when Yao looked back at him. “He doesn’t want me to die?”

                Yao made another exasperated noise as he slammed a book into place. “ _Now_ , I understand why the Queen gets so frustrated with you,” he grumbled with a huff. “You somehow manage to let the point of a conversation pass over your head without a second thought.”

                Alfred smiled. “Maybe I _do_ get it, and I’m just trying to annoy you.”

                “A job well done, I assure you, Your Majesty.”

                As Yao massaged his temples with a pinched expression, Alfred snickered to himself and let his eyes wander about the room. He hadn’t been to this side of the library too often, considering he didn’t care to explore the library too often. There was a plain, wooden door tucked into the wall on his right, looking very out of place amid the barren wall. Alfred tapped Yao’s shoulder to gain his attention and gestured to the door.

                “Yao, what’s through here?”

                Giving the door a swift glance, Yao gave a noncommittal noise. “Oh… those are the Archives, Your Highness.”

                Walking over to the door, Alfred grabbed the large steel handle and gave it an experimental tug. When it opened easily, Alfred looked back and smiled at Yao’s perturbed visage. “What’s in the Archives? All of the scary stories? Secrets? A dead guy? How many books are in there? What if –”

                “It’s only one,” Yao interrupted quickly, holding up his index finger as if to solidify the number. “The Archives are contained one book.”

                Pursing his lips, Alfred casted one last glance into the room that held the Archives. The room was pitch-black with no windows or lamps to keep the interior visible, and when Yao cleared his throat uncomfortably, Alfred pushed the door shut.

                “Are we not allowed to go in?” Alfred asked quietly, immediately interested in the secret book.

                Yao heaved a sigh as he smoothed his glossy brown hair. “That, Your Highness…” he paused to give the door one last glance. “That is something you’ll have to ask the Queen.”

+++++

                “Hey, Arthur? I’ve got a question,” said Alfred as he followed Arthur around the study. Arthur stopped humming a song to look at Alfred over his shoulder while he moved stack of books from his desk to the table.

                “It’s improper to address someone with the word ‘hey,’ Alfred.”

                Alfred rolled his eyes with a smile as he leaned his hip against Arthur’s desk. “Right. Got it,” he paused while Arthur brushed passed him to pick up a few more books. “Oh, Great and Powerful Arthur... I’ve got a question.”

                Laughing just a bit, Arthur straightened his stacks of books before he turned to face Alfred with a fond smile. “How flattering… now I simply _must_ answer this question,” Arthur dramatized with a flourish of his hand. “What is the question, lad?”

                “What are the Archives?”

                Arthur’s smile melted down into a serious line and the atmosphere in the room became tense with mystery and confusion. With a sideways step, Alfred wandered away from Arthur’s desk and toward the Queen of Spades.

                “The Archives…” Arthur murmured slowly, picking and choosing his words as Alfred sat down on the sofa. “Is a very valuable tool for Spades, but… how did you learn of it?”

                “I was in the library with Yao, and I saw the door –”

                Arthur cut him off by holding up a hand. “Well then, I understand your curiosity about the matter.”

                Alfred smiled and nodded. “Great! So, what is it? Yao said I should talk to you about it.”

                “Did he now?” Arthur asked with a sour tone. Alfred had the feeling he’d just gotten Yao into trouble, but the displeased expression on Arthur’s face didn’t stop him from sitting in his armchair next to the sofa and refreshing his expression with a smile. “No matter, no matter… you wish to know about the Archives, so I’ll gladly tell you.”

                Sitting forward on the sofa, Alfred happily watched Arthur tap the top of his thighs while he thought of an appropriate place to begin his explanation. Alfred dipped his chin to see the gentle way Arthur’s expression relaxed into something more approachable. When he lifted his eyes, he caught Alfred staring, and just as their eyes locked, the faintest hint of a smile graced Arthur’s lips. Alfred gladly reciprocated the expression.

                “Now, you must understand that the Archives are a very important part of Spades,” Arthur began, countering the warm presence of his smile with the serious undertone in his words. Alfred nodded slowly in earnest understanding, and Arthur continued. “The Archives are a literal archive of every life that’s ever existed in Spades.”

                Alfred blinked. “What?”

                “The _Archives_ ,” Arthur emphasized slowly, “is a _book_ that has _recorded_ –”

                Alfred shook his head vigorously. “No, no. I heard you. I just don’t get it,” Alfred tried to absorb the fact that there were so many lives in Spades being recorded in one book. “Is it just like… a list of names that someone writes down?”

                “No, Alfred. It records every moment of every day for each person who has ever been in Spades,” the Queen said evenly, taking a moment to assess the look of confusion on Alfred’s face before finishing. “From the moment they’re born to the moment they die… each moment of their lives are recorded.”

                Alfred sputtered. “What? Ho-how? There’s got to be hundreds… _thousands_ of lives that have been lived here! How could someone record every minute of everyone’s private lives? And how big does that one book have to be?”

                When Arthur chuckled at his confusion, Alfred frowned. He was asking serious questions, and Arthur liked to be taken seriously, so why was he laughing? Alfred just wanted to know about the place he was going to be living in for the foreseeable future. And even though Arthur’s laugh was music to his ears, he wasn’t really in the mood for music.

                “The Archives are contained one book, but it’s not as large as I’m sure you imagine it to be. It’s just about…” Arthur pointed at a book on the table, just about two inches thick. “Just about the same size as this book, here.”

                “But… _how_? How would that even work?” Alfred said with a perplexed expression, still not understanding the concept. Arthur crossed his legs smoothly and placed his folded hands on top of them with a smile.

                “It’s simply the magic of Spades, Alfred. There is no other explanation for the happenings of the Archives,” Arthur paused to look down at the table as he thought. Despite the talk of magic, Alfred was caught up in the way Arthur’s honey-colored eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, but was snapped back to reality when Arthur’s eyes lifted up to catch his. “Have you ever heard the tale of Grá Mór?”

                “Uh,” Alfred breathed, thinking back to the time Arthur had gotten the letter from Striaton and sent him to the library with Yao. “Yeah, I remember.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled, and Alfred quickly corrected himself. “I mean ‘yes.’ _Yes_ , I remember. Yao told me about her a while ago. The first… uh… Queen of Spades, right? A warrior lady?”

                Arthur hummed quietly as he unfolded his hands to rest them on the arms of the chair. “Grá Mór was the woman who forged the borders of Spades and the first laws within it. Moreover, legend tells us that the Archives were a gift from the gods to Grá Mór, and she was told that only those of royal status would have the ability to read it.”

                Sitting back with a sly smile, Alfred felt the wings of a butterfly flutter in his stomach when Arthur turned his emerald gaze on him. “So you’re saying… only you and I could read it?”

                Arthur took a deep breath, and Alfred saw the tension that cut through his shoulders. “Yes, you and I _could_ read it, if we so wished… but, there’s only so much you _should_ read in it.”

                Cocking his head to the side, Alfred pursed his lips and gave Arthur a long, considering look. Where there secrets inside that Arthur didn’t want him to see? Maybe there was something about the card that could take him home, or maybe something really horrifying about the former King that Arthur didn’t want anyone to know about. Either way, the Archives were becoming more and more interesting.

                “Why?” Alfred asked as innocently as possible, watching as Arthur’s stare transformed into something soft and worrisome.

                “Because the people in Archives are actual people Alfred.” Arthur stood from his armchair only to take two steps and sit down next to Alfred on the sofa. “They led lives and had children and kept secrets… secrets that could, in this day, condemn a family that has worked very, _very_ hard to redeem themselves. That being said, even though you and I have the ability to read it, you must remember that there are secrets in the Archives that must never be told... and knowledge that can _never_ be spoken.”

                Alfred nodded quickly, looking down at his lap nervously. “Okay.  I understand…”

                Arthur shook his head. “That’s not good enough. Look at me, Alfred,” Arthur said softly as he waited for Alfred to look at him. Alfred finally lifted his eyes, he met Arthur’s stare head-on and felt his heart clench at the absolute terror that sparkled in his jade irises. “You must _promise_ me. If you ever do read the Archives, you will keep what you’ve found to yourself. It’s easy to lose yourself in a book and want to share it with the world, but this… this cannot be shared with the world. Do you understand me, lad?”

                “I understand, Arthur…”

                “Promise me that you understand,” Arthur ordered as he placed his hands on top of Alfred’s and held them tight as he waited for Alfred’s response.

                The way that Arthur looked at him made Alfred’s butterflies in his stomach take flight, and he squeezed Arthur’s hands back at the sensation. They were close. So _close,_ Alfred thought of his dream where their breath mixed and the air was thick with tension. He could just lean forward and make his dream into a reality, but the way Arthur was waiting for a response made him pause. If he was going to kiss Arthur, it needed be perfect and romantic, not tense and anxious.

                So, Alfred gave Arthur a tight smile as he rubbed his thumb against the back of Arthur’s hand while he mumbled a gentle, “I promise.”


	8. Memoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING! There will be sexual harassment later in this chapter, along with suggestions of non-con. Please don't read if it'll make you feel uncomfortable.** (If it upsets you after the warning, please let me know how I can help you. Thank you.)  
> 

                “Hello?” Alfred called early on Monday – the morning after he’d spoken to Arthur about the Archives – as he descended the stairs, looking for… well… _anyone_. “Where is everybody?”

                Fredrick hadn’t woken him up that morning and there were no clothes sitting out and waiting for him. Without his bright-eyed alarm to wake him up, he woke at the crack of nine ‘clock, a full hour after he was supposed to have breakfast with Arthur. He’d have been startled, but when he rushed out the door in his haphazardly thrown together outfit, he realized that Arthur would’ve, or should’ve, sent someone for him much earlier. So the question was, why _hadn’t_ Arthur sent someone for him?

                “Fredrick?” Alfred rounded the corner of the southern corridor, peeking to look out the door that led to the training grounds. No soldiers or guards were sparring with their swords, and no horses trotted around the corral. Alfred squinted at the bleak scene before turning on his heel and heading for the garden. “Yao? Clara? Hello? Anybody, feel free to say something.”

                He was halfway through the doorway of the golden drawing room when he heard it: a low hum of speech. At first he’d assumed it was some kind of low buzzing of electricity, but he quickly disregarded that theory because Spades didn’t have motors. At least, not yet. That was something he’d been meaning to mention to Arthur, but the Queen seemed perfectly happy with the horse-drawn carriages and old fashioned plows. He probably needed to tread lightly with that subject.

                But that wasn’t important at the moment. Somewhere along one of the hallways he’d been wandering toward, he heard the vague suggestion of people whispering just enough for the echoes to retreat down the empty hallways and onto Alfred’s waiting ears. Turning on his heel, Alfred stuffed the end of his shirt down into his trousers and buttoned the last button of his vest as he followed the sounds of conversation.

                There was whispering, the light tapping of short, clicking footsteps, and several of giggles that were quickly followed by a buzzing chorus of “Shush!” Ascending the stairs that led to Arthur’s study, Alfred found himself looking at a group of children surrounding the door with Yao at the center, blocking the slightly ajar door.

                “Yao?” Alfred called, receiving a hard glare from several children, none of which could’ve been older than ten. Yao quickly placed a finger to his lips only to move it back to the doorframe to avoid letting the children fall through the doorway and into the study. Alfred smiled and proceeded to whisper to the Jack of Spades while he approached the group of giddy children,“What’s going on in the study?”

                One young girl took Alfred’s fingers and pulled him toward the group quickly, smiling up at him with shining, hazel eyes. “The Queen is _asleep_ ,” she whispered to him, immediately sparking a series of giggles from the rest of the children. Alfred allowed the girl to pull him past the other children to stand in front of a very flustered Yao before she tugged on his sleeve to gain his attention once more. “I’ve never seen him sleep before… have you?”

                Without having time to think about it, Alfred felt his cheeks burst into flame at the thought of Arthur fast asleep. He might’ve been sprawled across the sofa. No, no… that wouldn’t be Arthur. Arthur was far too conservative. He would curl up on the cushions and tuck his arms and legs close to himself, hiding his graceful features from the world. Arthur’s honey-colored eyelashes would flutter as he dreamt, and his lips might part ever so slightly, taking in soft breaths and letting out the softest of sighs. Alfred swallowed as many of the girls in the group laughed at his pink face.

                “N-no, I haven’t,” he murmured down to her before looking at Yao. “Is it rude if I ask who these kids are?”

                “Not at all, Your Highness,” Yao sighed, shifting his arm down when an adventurous boy tried to duck below it and enter the study. “These are the children of different nobles and palace workers. Most of them shouldn’t even be in this area of the palace,” he said with a disapproving glance to some of the more well-dressed children with gold laces in their vests and bright pins in their hair.

                The boy that had tried to duck below Yao’s arm gave a loose shrug. “We can go to our lessons some other time,” he breathed through a crooked smile that was missing a tooth. Alfred saw the shining, brass pins on his gleaming, crimson vest and assumed he was a noble child. “But we might never again get to see proof that the Queen _actually_ sleeps!”

                Alfred made a face. “You’re watching Arthur sleep?” Several of the children began to giggle again, and Yao shushed them once more. Pulling his hand from the hazel-eyed girl’s grip, Alfred turned to the group of children with the angriest expression he could muster while he whispered to them in low, flat tones. “Now, see here –” Arthur had used that phrase against him, and it always made him feel small. “This isn’t something for you to poke fun and stare at… he’s very tired, and needs sleep. All of you standing out here doesn’t help that, does it?”

                “But,” Hazel-eyes said with a pouty lip, pulling at her worn brown shirt. “He’s so pretty when he’s sleeping.”

                Several of the children mumbled agreements, and many of the boys ducked their heads with guilty smiles. Behind Alfred, Yao sighed and tapped his fingers along the doorframe while Alfred tried to think of a proper way to make the kids go away. When he was young and doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, threats for his parents to be called would normally be established. He _was_ their King… so, realistically, a threat from him would be the most terrifying one could receive.

                “That sounds nice,” Alfred said slowly before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the children under the rim of his glasses. “But, what would Arthur do if he caught you?”

                One of the boys in the back part of the group raised his hand, and Alfred nodded at him. “The Queen is always nice to us, Your Majesty.”

                “True,” Alfred hummed before leaning forward and looming over the children with a scowl on his face. “But what if your _parents_ found out you were here?”

                The noble boy crossed his arms over his red-vested chest and glared at Alfred, whispering a dark, “You’re bluffing,” while several of the other children scurried away down the hall.

                Alfred sniffed haughtily. “Do you really want to risk it?” While the boy pouted and stomped his foot once, Alfred glanced back at Yao. “Yao, would you lead these children back to wherever it is they’re supposed to be? I bet their parents would love to know that they’ve been sneaking around the Queen’s study…”

                Before Alfred could finish, the obnoxious boy’s eyes went wide and he quickly joined the remaining children as they skittered away down the hall. Alfred pursed his lips and nodded to himself, happy with his handiwork. Behind him, Yao gave a soft sigh before taking the door of the study and pulling it shut. Turning on his heel to look at Yao, Alfred raised an eyebrow with a smile.

                “So, what’s all this about? Does Arthur never sleep or something?”

                Yao rolled his eyes as he pulled his long hair over his shoulder and pulled his fingers through the dark locks. “He sleeps, but very rarely. I’ve seen him go five days without sleep… but, in the end, he always manages to collapse somewhere or other due to his body’s needs.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide. “That’s not good for him. Or anyone, actually. Why doesn’t he sleep?”

                Yao sighed, casting a quick glance at the door of the study before he shrugged at Alfred. “I can’t really say. Many people over the years have had their assumptions, but when I asked the Queen, he said he just couldn’t find peace.”

                “Peace?” Alfred prompted, crossing his arms and taking a few steps away from the door when Yao motioned for them to step to the side. “How can someone not find peace?”

                “Well,” Yao hummed lowly with a faraway stare. “He sleeps more often… ever since you came to Spades. Perhaps his soul was merely restless, and you have brought him a sense of tranquility.”

                Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alfred swallowed the urge to stomp his feet like the boy before him had. All of the talk of fate and soulmates had driven him to the point of confused tantrums. Alfred knew that he and Arthur were supposed to have a bond that connected their souls, but all of the “restless soul” business was just a jumbled up blob of nonsense to him.

                “So, because I’m here, he can suddenly find peace and go to sleep?” Alfred asked, closing his eyes and pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.

                Tugging absently at his own long hair, Yao nodded slowly. “It’s better than the times he’s collapsed in the garden… or on the stairs.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide. “He fell down the stairs?”

                Yao looked up at him with a tired expression. “More than once, Your Majesty. But, as I said, he’s been sleeping more often than before… now that you’re here.”

                “Right…” Alfred narrowed his eyes and nodded, thinking of the dark circles under Arthur’s bright, green eyes.

Arthur had told him that he had trouble sleeping, but Alfred never imagined that it would cause him to fall down a flight of stairs. He hadn’t seen Arthur laid up with any injuries or down with any head trauma, so it was safe to say that in the two months he’d been in Spades, Arthur had been sleeping well enough to keep himself physically healthy. But still, the thought of Arthur being so tired that he collapsed was one that made Alfred’s chest ache in a way that he’d never experienced before. He never wanted it to happen again. He wanted to know why it happened, and how to make it better. Alfred blinked in realization.

The Archives could tell him why Arthur had trouble sleeping. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the great nephew of the former King was trying to topple Spades or the fact that he was drafting new treaties day and night. No matter what the reason was, he just had to heed his promise to Arthur and not tell anyone what he learned. That should’ve been simple enough. Uncrossing his arms, Alfred placed his hands on his hips and took a cleansing breath. He had to distract Yao if he was going to read the Archives without having anyone breathing down his neck.

“Anyway,” Alfred said lowly. “Where is everyone?”

Yao raised an eyebrow. “I gave out instructions that the eastern side of the palace is to be cleared. The Queen rarely falls asleep _willingly_ , so I thought it’d be best for him to sleep as long as possible.” Alfred nodded along with Yao quietly as the Jack sighed. “For him to stay asleep, the room must be quiet.”

“Right, right. Sounds very considerate of you.” Alfred fumbled for an excuse to keep Yao away from the library. “But, I think when he wakes up, he’ll want something easy to eat… maybe you could go down to the kitchen and ask them to make some soup or something for him.”

The Jack made a face at the suggestion but didn’t disagree with it. “Well, I suppose I could do that… if you think the Queen would enjoy something to eat.”

Alfred waved his hand dismissively. “Oh yeah, totally. While you’re doing that, I’m going to read up on my geography and history.”

Yao sputtered something about Alfred never wanting to study as he meandered toward the stairs but he made no move to call the young king out on it as he went. After watching Yao descend the stairs and waited for the echoes of his footsteps fade, Alfred approached the study once more. He didn’t want to wake Arthur up, but, if the kids got to peak, then he figured he should be allowed to see Arthur as well.

The hinges of the door must have been in excellent shape, given that they didn’t squeal or shriek when he pushed the door open. Then again, Alfred reminded himself, Arthur was terribly proficient. If the door _did_ squeak, he’d probably do something about it himself. It could be that… or it could be magic. No matter the reason, Alfred was glad that there was no noise to distract the man sleeping on the sofa.

                Alfred had been prepared for his heart to skip a beat and the butterflies in his stomach to flutter their wings nervously. But all he felt the blush burning his cheeks and the constant, steady thud of his heart. When he saw Arthur, draped across the sofa with his long, graceful legs crossed one over the other, he expected something extraordinary to happen to his mind or body. Like fireworks in his brain or a bomb going off in his chest. No such thing happened. He merely saw Arthur as he saw him every day, calm and steady amid a strange, foreign land.

                Rather than giddy excitement, Alfred felt incredibly fond of his husband lying on the sofa. There was a book laying open on the floor, dropped and forgotten by Arthur’s hand that hung over the edge of his resting place. The other hand was set atop his breast, rising and falling with each rhythmic breath.

                Stepping into the study to gain a better look at Arthur’s face, Alfred watched as the Queen’s eyelids fluttered. In his silent sleep, Arthur was chasing some kind of dream that was no doubt more peaceful than his current life. Stepping closer to the sofa, Alfred noted the normal paleness in Arthur’s face had faded to a natural color of cream that showed off the pink blush in his cheeks.

                Alfred swallowed. He shouldn’t have been staring. It was probably creepy. But there was Arthur in all his perfection, not curled up and not sprawled out, but laying out on the sofa in a way that any normal person would. Any normal person could lay down like that. So why did Arthur doing it make his head feel like it was filled with cotton and cause his insides to turn into one large, gooey mess?

                Crouching down to pick up the book that Arthur had dropped, Alfred casted a glance at Arthur’s purple eyelids and pale, pink lips. Who knew what made Arthur so special in Alfred’s eyes? Anyone in Spades would say it was fate and magic, but Alfred theorized it was something more human than that. There was the aspect of Arthur being a fine specimen of beauty, but there was also the fact that Arthur was the most enjoyable person Alfred had ever met. He didn’t want to talk to anyone as much as he wanted to talk to Arthur, and no matter how many pretty girls or boys he saw in the palace, none of them could ever compare to Arthur’s magnetic pull.

                God, did Alfred feel the pull. Like some kind of irresistible pulse between them. He felt it when Arthur would turn to see him coming to the terrace for breakfast. It was there when he ran out of things to say and Arthur would simply smile and nod. When Arthur hid his smile behind his hands. When he would reach out and take Alfred’s hand and hold it when they had a moment alone. The pull was there in his dreams when he saw Arthur with him, on top of him, around him, drawing him in and holding him close… Arthur was definitely more than a crush. Alfred blinked.

                “Arthur?” He whispered anxiously, hoping that Arthur wouldn’t open his eyes and catch him in the act of staring.

When no green eyes looked to him, he set Arthur’s book on the table slowly and sat next to the sofa. His hand naturally reached out for Arthur’s and took the hand that dangled over the edge of the cushions. Rubbing his thumb along the back of Arthur’s hand while the Queen took a deep breath and relaxed against the sofa.

Alfred frowned. He hadn’t even seen it coming. All of it went so fast. Two months with Arthur, and already… Alfred shook his head. It shouldn’t have been possible

But there it was, clear as day. It was obvious in the way he would search for Arthur in a crowd and took his hand whenever the opportunity arose. He wanted to be with Arthur. Whether or not it was because of some magical bond, Alfred knew that he wanted Arthur more than anything else in the world.

Lifting his eyes from his hand around Arthur’s, Alfred watched Arthur’s eyelashes shiver and tremble before he whispered, “I’m in love with you.”

His quiet confession was immediately followed by a sigh from Arthur. Hearing his heart rate pick back up, Alfred blinked hard and looked away before he refocused his eyes on Arthur’s sleeping face again. His own words played on repeat in his head, drowning out the incessant thudding of his heartbeat. He was in love with Arthur. No matter how much the two men danced around the idea of being closer, it happened right under their noses. Alfred was defenseless against his first, real love. And now that he fully acknowledged it, he wanted to do something.

Probably something reckless.

Before he could let himself do anything stupid, he slipped his hand from Arthur’s. He froze when Arthur made a befuddled noise in back of his throat but after only a few, tense seconds later, Arthur turned his face toward the back of the sofa and sighed again. Tiptoeing back to the door, Alfred paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“Arthur,” he whispered, holding his breath as Arthur continued to sleep. “Can I go read the Archives? Say absolutely nothing if I can.”

Arthur shifted his legs and made a soft noise but didn’t wake up and command him to stop. So with his heart racing for a whole different reasion, Alfred backed out of the study and closed the door behind himself.

+++++

                The doorway that led to the Archives was darker than Alfred remembered. It seemed more foreboding than the first time he’d looked inside, almost like it knew he was sneaking around to learn more about his husband and was trying to scare him off with his childish fear of the dark. He left the doorway just long enough to snatch one of the oil lamps and matchsticks from the side of the library and bring them back to the secretive room.

                When his lamp was lit, he stepped inside the stone-walled enclosure and shut the door behind himself. The crack under the door allowed air inside, leaving Alfred feeling less anxious as he closed the door and looked down at the flight of stairs that greeted him. The stone steps plunged into yet another pit of darkness, and Alfred decided that he’d talk to Arthur about electricity sooner rather than later.

                Holding a stable hand to the walls lining the uneven stone steps, Alfred stepped down carefully. A misstep could result in tripping and hitting his head on the stairs and no one would even know where he was. Alfred squinted down at the bottom step, sliding his hand along the cold walls as he continued. If he did get stuck, would anyone look for him? Would Arthur be worried?

                Shaking his head, Alfred stood at the bottom of the stairs and held up his lamp to inspect the room. It was bare except for one table in the middle and a chair that sat beside it. Both were old and looked a bit dusty, but Alfred mused that they were taken care of as he approached them and tested their strength by leaning his palm on them. On the table, a book that was no doubt the Archives sat waiting for him.

                “Well,” Alfred said quietly, hoping he wasn’t crazy for talking to a magical book. “Let’s do this.”

                The book remained silent atop the table, not seeing any instructions or hearing any mysterious voices. After shaking the chair a bit to make sure it wasn’t going to fall apart, Alfred sat and gave the book a hard stare.

                “How does this work?” He asked as he reached forward and took the book from the table.

It was dusty, just like the table and chair, but Alfred quickly wiped the dust off with his sleeve. The cover was a dark sapphire with a large black symbol of Spades in the middle. The binding was old, and crackled a bit when he opened it, but nothing fell apart, and no pages slipped away.

                He flipped through a few, blank pages before he began to feel confused. There was nothing on any of the pages. All of it was blank. Glancing back to the stairwell that he’d just come down, Alfred wondered if this was some kind of tactic to keep normal people from reading the Archives, and the real book was hidden in a secret passage or trap door. Confusion bubbled up until it boiled into frustration while he tilted the book ad fanned the pages one way and then back, not seeing a single word in the book.

                “Come on!” He growled, slamming the book shut and dropping it back onto the table while he huffed. “Arthur said that only the royal people can read you,” he indicated to the book as if it could hear him before leaning back against the old chair. “So why isn’t this working?”

                Reaching out to open the book again, Alfred gave the empty, yellowing pages one last stare before he snorted and shook his head. It was probably something Arthur had come up with to keep him out of the way while he was working on palace affairs. Some kind of elaborate trick, or something. Alfred frowned.

                Would Arthur really lie to him like that? Over the two months they’d known each other, Arthur always spoke the honest – if not brutally honest – truth. Not to mention the way his eyes had glimmered with fear only the previous day when Alfred asked him about the Archives and how he had made him promise to keep the secrets of Spades.

                With a shake of his head, Alfred knew that Arthur would not really want to lie to him. Giving up the blame on Arthur and putting it on himself, Alfred leaned forward and pushed his oil lamp to the far side of the table. The small flame casted eerie shadows along the walls that made Alfred nervous, but he felt confident in the fact that there were no nefarious spirits in Spades. Or… If magic was possible, ghosts and ghouls could be as well. Shivering slightly, Alfred decided he’d ask Arthur about it when he woke up.

                The Archives were the most important thing at the moment. And if he was going to learn anything about Arthur, he was going to have to figure out how the magic book worked.

                “Come on,” he coaxed, waiting for something fantastic to happen to the closed book while he watched it. Pressing the palms of his hands together almost like he was praying, Alfred touched his fingers to his lips. “Please work. I just want to know. I tell him everything, and I feel like… he doesn’t know how to tell me, so…” Alfred watched the book stay stationary on the table, unchanging. When opened it, he saw the sad blank pages and let the cover fall back down with a groan. “I _just_ want to know about _Arthur_! Is that too much to ask?”

                As if unlocked by Arthur’s name, the pages of the book let off an ethereal, opalescent glow. Alfred’s eyes went wide as he watched the pages of the book shiver and flutter with the light and felt the temperature of the room grow warmer as the book itself trembled. Just as quickly as the light came, it faded from sight, leaving the Archives sitting in the same place as if nothing had ever happened. Alfred reached out to take the book from the table, and slid it forward and onto his lap carefully.

                Casting one last, paranoid glance at the stairwell, Alfred held the cover of the Archives pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He knew he was nervous. He could get caught reading Arthur’s past, and if that happened, their fragile relationship could be shattered… But, it could be the only time Alfred would really be able to know about the secret past of Arthur Kirkland. Nonetheless, his heartbeat was loud and clear in his ears as he waited for Yao or Arthur to come racing down the steps looking for him. But when no one came, he lowered his eyes back to the book, opened to the first page of Arthur’s life, and began to read.

                Before he could coherently read the first sentence, the room around him distorted and changed. He saw a flicker of unnatural light in the corner of his eye and quickly looked up to see that he was in a completely different place, like he’d been transported into Spades all over again. The walls were a gleaming white, and he heard the distinct sound of birds chirping not too far away. He slammed the book shut and stood from his chair in confusion, only to see the foreign landscape melt away, leaving the dark grey walls in their wake.

                “The hell…” Alfred muttered, looking about the room with a flabbergasted expression before glancing down at the book in his hands.

                Quickly taking his seat again, Alfred opened the book to the first page, and kept his eyes on the room around him as the dreary grey walls were smoothly covered by glittering white ones. The birds resumed their chirping, and Alfred let himself grow accustomed to the foreign setting. It seemed familiar. Almost like the golden sitting room but somehow different. As if there were several details that had been forgotten or overlooked. Alfred counted to ten seconds before he closed the book, and watched it all fade away to the darkness of the stone-walled room.

                “No way,” he breathed, looking down at the book. “You are literally showing me his past. Holy shit.”

                When he opened the book again, he left it open. He was determined to see what was at the beginning. After he looked around the room again, he heard the sound of light, clattering footsteps coming towards him. He turned to his right and saw a young girl, no older than five, dashing through the doorway in a flattering, golden frock. Her brown hair caught the light of the imaginary memory, and Alfred almost saw a glimpse of Arthur’s shy smile in her own as she raced right past him.

                He was confused for a moment. What did a little girl have to do with Arthur? Turning to his left, he saw an older woman standing on the far left side of the room. She held a small bundle in her arms, frowning down at it as the young girl came to a stumbling stop at the hem of the woman’s long, silver dress. Her own dark-brown hair was pinned up in an intricate bun atop her head that tastefully matched the young girl’s. Mother and daughter, perhaps? Alfred stood from his chair, careful not to close the book, and approached the women carefully.

                “Hello?” He called softly, watching as the little girl pulled at the woman’s skirt while the woman angled the bundle in her arms away from Alfred. “Can you hear me?”

                With no response from either woman, Alfred assumed that he was just going to be passively observing the scenes unfold in front of him. Not even two seconds later, the girl was speaking to the woman sweetly, reaching up for the bundle.

                “Can I see? Can I see him, mother?” She asked tilting her head of brown curls to the side while her mother continued to angle the roll of blankets in her arms away. Alfred mused that the baby was most likely Arthur, and this young girl was his half-sibling. Arthur’s mother frowned at the baby in her arms before taking a smooth step away from her daughter.

                “Be careful now, Juliana… such impolite speech is improper for a lady.”

                Alfred stood by quietly as Juliana frowned and released the fistfuls of her mother’s dress. “ _May_ I see him, mother?” The older woman smiled sweetly at Juliana as she bent her knees and held the baby loosely in her arms. While Juliana smiled and giggled in delight, Alfred crouched down to see the baby’s wide, green eyes – Arthur’s eyes – submissively observed his sister. “He’s so pretty, mother. His eyes are so _green_!”

                “Yes,” Arthur’s mother sighed sadly as she looked down at the baby. Leaning to the side, Alfred could see that Arthur’s mother had a pair of brilliant, blue eyes where her daughter had hazel. Juliana pressed the tips of her small fingers against Arthur’s round cheeks while Arthur let out a frighteningly adorable yawn that involve scrunching his eyes shut and making a light squeaking noise. Arthur’s mother scowled and her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Perhaps his hair will grow darker with time…”

                Juliana gasped and shook her head in protest. “But, mother! His hair is like gold!”

                “Sure,” Alfred agreed sarcastically as he looked at the small, blond hairs on Arthur’s tiny head. “There’s not much there, but good goin’ kid.”

                “Pish posh,” Arthur’s mother said quickly, standing upright and tilting Arthur back in her arms quickly enough to make Alfred nervous. The baby gurgled and whimpered, but the woman made no move to soothe him she merely tilted her hips to the side and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if it’s like gold. It _must_ be brown.”

                With a pinched expression, Alfred looked down at the book and saw the text written like a novel. In a curving script, every movement was described and noted, and when Alfred looked ahead of the words that were just said, he saw that Arthur began to cry. Sure enough, the baby in the woman’s arms began to cry, and Alfred watched as Arthur’s mother struggled to console him without actually looking at him or talking to him.

                “I think,” Alfred said slowly as Juliana began to ask what was wrong. Her mother didn’t respond beyond a negative shake of her head as he bounced Arthur in her arms. It was more discomforting than informational to see Arthur as a baby. His mother was horrible. “I think I want to see something different. I want to see Arthur when he’s more grown up.”

                A sharp exclamation of, “Juliana!” followed Alfred’s words, and he watched the white room dissolve into a very alien view of the garden. Dozens of flowers were missing, and the blooms that were identifiable were much shorter.

It was from a different wing of the palace, but Alfred knew where he was when he spotted the terrace not too far away. Looking for the source of the voice, Alfred turned around just in time to see a blond boy come barreling into him. He recoiled and braced himself for impact, but the boy moved right through him, as if he were a ghost. Now he really wanted to talk to Arthur about ghosts in Spades.

Refocusing on the scene in front of him, Alfred turned away from the garden. The boy was most likely Arthur, and Alfred turned around to see him coming to a stop in front of a young lady. Juliana, Alfred mused. She had shed her youthful frock in favor of a pale, pink dress that brushed the floor as she walked, and her curly, brown hair reached down to the back of her hips. Glancing down at the pages of the Archives, Alfred read that she was twelve-years-old where Arthur was only seven. She held her arms out to Arthur, and they hugged each other as Alfred approached them slowly.

                “You’re back,” Arthur said enthusiastically as Juliana combed her manicured fingers through his flaxen hair. The top of his head hardly reached her chest but his arms around her waist never loosened. With a snort, Alfred figured he was holding her tighter than her bodice was. “I thought you’d be gone for another three days.”

                Juliana hummed and patted Arthur’s shoulders lightly. “Father decided that the trip had severed its purpose. The earl that lived along the coast of Cambrook has left his estate in father’s name. Do you know what that means?”

                Peeking around Juliana’s arms, Alfred grinned as Arthur gave his sister a beautifully white smile. “A castle on the seas for you, mother, and father,” he whispered softly, hugging himself against Juliana as he closed his eyes. “What does the sea smell like? Peppermint? Saffron?”

                With a laugh, Juliana shook her head and carded her fingers through Arthur’s hair again. “No, you silly boy. Always on with your flowers and your herbs…”

                “Flowers and herbs are beautiful!” Arthur exclaimed as he pulled back to give his sister a wide-eyed stare. Alfred laughed at the sincerity that rang in Arthur’s voice, and Juliana quickly echoed the sound. Arthur had said that he loved flowers, but Alfred didn’t know it had started so early in his life.

                Raising her hands in surrender, Juliana nodded at Arthur. “All right, all right… I must admit, flowers are quite lovely.”

                “ _And_ herbs,” Arthur pressed with an earnest undertone that made Alfred smile wider.

                “And herbs…” Juliana murmured with a shake of her head. “The sea smells like salt,” she said softly as Arthur’s emerald eyes glittered with fascination. “And the air is crisp, no matter where you go. The wind is howling like a pack of hounds, and you can’t see unless you hold your cloak up to block your eyes from the bits of sand in the air.”

                Arthur’s eyes didn’t leave Juliana’s as she continued to tell him about the rocks and cliffs that lined the sea, and Alfred saw that there was at least one good person in his life. By this time, Arthur’s real father had been killed on one of his jobs, so Arthur only had his sister for human companionship. Before Alfred could focus on the conversation once more, he heard an older woman’s voice squawk Juliana’s name.

                Both children froze for a second, looking at each other with a flare of regret between them as Juliana looked over her shoulder and called out a “Yes?” in response. With a heavy heart, Alfred watched Arthur’s expression droop as his mother called Juliana away to deal with an unknown task. Juliana turned back to Arthur with a melancholic smile, cupping his face in her hands and locking her hazel eyes with his green ones.

                “Now, don’t fret… I’ll be back soon.”

                “Yes,” Arthur said softly as she nodded and walked away. The word was steady and unwavering, but it didn’t do anything to mask the trembling of his lower lip and the glisten of tears in his eyes.

                 It made Alfred feel sick to his stomach. He’d never seen Arthur cry before. Not even when they were on the cliff and Arthur spoke about his mother. It was a horrible sight to see such a great man – or boy – torn to pieces by the very people that were meant to love him unconditionally. Juliana had only just gotten back form a long trip, and she was already being taken away from him again.

                With shaking hands, Alfred was quick to lift the book and look at it instead of seeing the large tears roll down Arthur’s rosy cheeks. “I don’t want to see… I don’t want to see this anymore. Show me when Arthur learned about the magic of Spades.”

                Seven-year-old Arthur faded away into a shaking, sobbing echo in the air as the setting around him churned and shifted into something new. Looking around, Alfred noted that he was further inside the garden, trapped by several layers of dense rose bushes and bold-colored chrysanthemums. Arthur sat with Juliana amidst a ring of daisies, entwining the stems of the flowers together with a fierce expression while Juliana read a book.

Juliana’s pink dress had been changed to a pale, green gown that probably shouldn’t have been fanned out across the ground like it was. Even her curly, brown hair was grand; it was tied up in an intricate system of braids and folds as it ran elegantly down her back. In short, she was the very picture of an aristocrat or noblewoman whereas Arthur wore a loose white shirt and brown trousers that tucked into simple white socks. It was probably all a show to keep people from thinking that Arthur was really a Kirkland. Alfred frowned at the idea, but didn’t let it bother him as Juliana hummed thoughtfully at her book.

                “Arthur,” she said quietly as she turned a page. Arthur looked up from his chain of orange flowers with an inquisitive hum. “Do you know what those flowers are?”

                “Daisies,” Arthur replied quickly, banishing his eyes back to the chain of flowers. “Gerbera daisies.”

                Juliana nodded in approval as she stared at her book more intensely. Alfred pursed his lips. Where was the magic? Fireworks, explosions, moving mountains… none of it was happening. Looking down to the Archives, Alfred read that Arthur was now ten-years-old and Juliana was fifteen. Before he could reiterate to the Archives what he wanted to see, Juliana spoke up again.

                “Very good, Arthur. Gerbera daisies give the message of cheerfulness,” she said with a formal nod to herself as she turned the page.

                With a smile, Alfred saw that she was reading a book that showed the meaning of flowers. Though the cover was a bit different and the pages weren’t as worn, it looked almost exactly like the book that he’d looked at only a week ago. If Juliana was interested in the meanings of flowers and she was the only person that was nice to Arthur as a child, it was no wonder he enjoyed knowing about them.

                “This is why you like flowers, isn’t it?” Alfred said to the ten-year-old Arthur as he sat down next to the siblings on the cobblestone walkway of the garden.

                 Of course, Arthur didn’t respond to him, but the small smile that sat on Arthur’s lips was answer enough for Alfred. Leaning forward to see the chain of flowers Arthur had been making, Alfred waited for the miraculous magic to happen. Maybe the flowers would talk, or his eyes would change colors with his mood, or maybe he’d change the elements like a superhero.

                As the seconds turned into minutes, Alfred grew weary of Juliana’s statements about the meaning of flowers and Arthur’s noncommittal hums. Nothing was happening. Looking down at the Archives, Alfred skimmed through the text until he found the words, “ _Arthur sees the magic of Spades_ ” written at the bottom of the page. Alfred squinted. What was that supposed to mean? Before Alfred could turn the page and see what exactly was going to happen, he heard Arthur gasp, and he immediately raised his head.

“Juliana,” Arthur said quietly with a look of complete wonder in his eyes. “Look… do you see it?”

Alfred stared in wide-eyed amazement at the scene around him. Small, glowing specs of blue rained from the sky, leaving foggy, illuminated trails in the air as they fell. Arthur reached out a hand to touch one and giggled when the spec dissolved into his skin. Juliana lifted her eyes from her book and squinted at her half-brother.

“Do I see what?” She inquired blandly, looking to and fro as Arthur gave her an exasperated expression.

“The lights,” Arthur said earnestly as he caught another gleaming orb in his palm and watched it fade into his skin. “These blue lights… what are they?”

Closing her book, Juliana pursed her lips and gave Arthur a hard stare. “Are you feeling unwell, Arthur?”

Alfred snorted at Juliana’s question, seeing Arthur frown and shake his head. She couldn’t see anything but the garden around them. So, the light was part of the magic of Spades… and because he was King, he could see it. But, what was it supposed to _do_? Licking his lips, Alfred reasoned that Arthur wasn’t Queen yet and wouldn’t be able to do anything with the magic yet. Even so, Arthur was having a marvelous time catching the mysterious, gleaming bits of magic in his hands.

“It’s… just like magic,” Arthur exclaimed brightly as Juliana gave him an uneasy smile. “I can see it! Magic in the air, Juliana… what does that mean?”

Juliana leaned forward and pressed the back of her hand to Arthur’s forehead. “It means that you need to get some rest. I fear that something is a bit… _off_ in that golden head of yours.”

Shaking his sister’s hand away, Arthur stood up and lifted his hands up to the sky with an enormous smile. “But why would I sleep at a time like this? Such soft light… a gift from the gods, do you think?” He asked his sister, watching as she smiled and shook her head.

“Oh, but you are a strange boy, Arthur…” She murmured as she plucked his forgotten chain of flowers from the cobblestone ground. Arthur ignored her, cupping his hands and watching as one light landed there and fizzled out slowly. Juliana smiled. “But I shall love you no less.”

With a smile, Alfred turned his eyes down to the Archives and tapped his index finger against the spine of the book. There were so many things he could see, but the real problem was picking one. Biting his lower lip, Alfred finally decided that he wanted to know about the man that Arthur had been married to before him. “Show me... um… the first time Arthur was married.”

Watching the lights disappear from sight was a little disappointing, but the last things to fade was Arthur’s gleaming smile. The thick rose bushes were replaced by brown walls, and the cobblestone melted down to become a soft rug. Immediately, Alfred could recognize the study. The shelves were missing a few books that Arthur commonly read, and the armchair wasn’t there, but Alfred knew where he was. But… shouldn’t he be looking at the faraway balcony where he and Arthur got married? Arthur had told him more than once that it was tradition for the royal couples to be married there… so why was he in the study?

Hearing a crash, Alfred looked up to see Arthur – much older than his seven-year-old self – backing away through the doors of the balcony that overlooked the garden. He had fallen through the doors in his hurry to run away from something.

                “W-what are you doing?” He croaked at an unknown person who was still on the balcony as he held a hand to his disheveled vest.

                Slowly, quietly, a man emerged through the night-darkened balcony. He looked like he was in his forties if Alfred wanted to be nice. He had a scruffy, dark-brown beard and a pronounced potbelly that made him look even more intimidating next to the thin young man in front of him. He had a crown on his head, and Alfred recognized it as the crown that was given to him at his coronation. So this man was Donovan. Arthur continued to scramble away from him, and Alfred watched with wide eyes as Arthur’s hands shook and he stumbled and tripped edge of the carpet as his legs trembled beneath him.

                Arthur was only eighteen-years-old, Alfred read shakily as the man continued to lumber forward. Using quick observational skills, Alfred discerned that the cause of Arthur’s ruffled vest and shirt were Donovan’s big, groping hands. But the man didn’t seem to want to stop, no matter how frightened Arthur looked.

                “You are _my_ Queen,” Donovan rumbled in a heavy, bass voice that struck a violent chord within Alfred. He wanted to punch him. He wanted to reach into Arthur’s memories and punch Donovan so hard that his great nephew would feel it. “Your virtue is _my_ right.”

                “You… you have the right to no such thing!” Arthur responded quickly, pushing himself up and off of the floor as he rushed for the door, running straight through Alfred again in the process. Turning around, Alfred watched as Arthur struggled with the doorknob before looking around for the keys.

                “You might need these, little boy,” Donovan purred victoriously while Arthur turned to see him dangling the keys between his thumb and forefinger. “What’ll it be? On your front or on your back?”

                Not catching himself in time, Alfred surged forward with his fist drawn back to hit Donovan only to feel himself go tumbling through the memory and onto the floor in a graceless heap. The book fell with him, rolling once until it fell on the floor on a new page.

                “You’re really pretty,” Alfred heard himself say suavely.

Lifting himself from the floor and pushing his glasses back onto his nose, he saw himself sitting with Arthur on the terrace. It was Arthur’s memory of their conversation they had a few weeks ago, and he watched as Arthur’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

                “No,” he said quickly, not wanting to miss what happened to Arthur. He had to know what happened. Even if he didn’t watch the former King go through with it, he wanted to know how to act with Arthur. Scrambling for the book, Alfred flipped it over and spoke to it hurriedly. “No, no! Go back! Go back to his first time being married!”

                The stepping stones beneath him quickly fell away to reveal the elegant rug that still laid in the study. Turning back to see Arthur pressed against the door by a man easily three times his size, Alfred felt his anger well up all over again. The young Queen gasped for breath like he was being suffocated while Donovan held his hands on either side of Arthur’s head. Realistically, he probably was being suffocated by Donovan’s massive body, but Alfred couldn’t quite tell from his angle on the floor.

                “I am the King,” Donovan whispered, gaining a disgusted noise from Arthur in response. “And loyal subjects are meant to submit.”

                “You…” Arthur said breathlessly as he tried to push the older man away to no avail. “You will release me this instant! King or not, I will not submit… let me go!”

                Still sitting on the carpet with clenched fists, Alfred hoped, wished, and prayed that Arthur would get out of this situation as his heart pounded madly and he sat on the carpet. Every time Donovan took a breath, Arthur was pushed closer to the door, resulting in a sharp cry of protest from the young Queen. It made Alfred’s stomach heave and tears come to his eyes, but he knew there was nothing he could do or say to change what was happening.

                While Donovan began to mutter something else about being quiet, Arthur’s eyes went wide with shock. Alfred almost suspected that Donovan had slid one of his hands from the doorway a bit too far but was pleasantly surprised by the quick movement of Arthur’s knee up and between Donovan’s legs. The King immediately howled something insulting that Alfred didn’t understand while he dropped to his knees and cupped himself.

                Wasting no time, Arthur picked up the keys from where Donovan had dropped it in favor of his groin and unlocked the door of the study. He didn’t look back to see Donovan reach out in an attempt to grab him as he sprinted out of the study and disappeared in the hallway.

                “Oh my god…” Alfred muttered as he closed the cover of the Archives with a racing heart. “Oh my _god_ …”

He had imagined violence and shouting from Donovan, not sultry whispers and unwelcomed advances. Alfred now knew about one side of the terrible man that Arthur had been married to, but rather than allowing the anger to overtake him as the study melted away to reveal the stone walls, he felt his heart constrict painfully. Arthur had been attacked by the man he believed was supposed to support him. Shaking his head, Alfred dropped the Archives on the table and snatched up his oil lamp and ran up the stairs.

His foot slipped on the top step, but he caught himself with his spare hand and pushed himself back up and through the doorway that led to the library. After he snuffed out the flame in the oil lamp and left it on the table where he’d found it, he rushed out of the library and toward the study. He needed to tell Arthur he was sorry for not understanding the troubling life he’d been through. He needed to apologize for reading without permission. More than anything, he wanted to know if Arthur was okay after everything that happened.

As Alfred turned the corner of the hallway that held the study, his feet couldn’t keep up with his racing heart and he knew his tongue wouldn’t have been able to keep up with his brain. Holding his hand to the doorknob of the study, the very same doorknob that Arthur hadn’t been able to open during his first night married to a tyrant, Alfred caught his breath.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing his brain to reorganize his thoughts and his heart to slow down to a heavy throb. When he knew he was capable of stepping into the study without hugging Arthur tight enough to break him in half, he turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door.

Arthur was just where Alfred had left him. On the sofa with his legs still crossed and his hand still dangling over the edge of the cushions, Arthur was fast asleep.

“Arthur,” he breathed, trudging over to his husband on the sofa and standing over him nervously. “Arthur? Wake up.” He reached out a tentative hand to shake Arthur’s shoulder lightly, hearing the Queen’s sharp inhale and watching his hands cover his eyes as he let out a slow, airy moan. Alfred licked his lips and left his hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he whispered, “I need to tell you something.”

Arthur took the hand that sat on his shoulder and held it there as he blinked slowly. “Alfred?” He murmured sleepily with a slow blink as his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “You sound upset…”

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” Alfred confessed, watching as the Queen squinted up at him and refused to release his hand.

“Alfred, Alfred…” Arthur whispered softly as he closed his eyes again. “Dear boy, I am not awake enough to decipher whatever it is you are apologizing for. Please explain.”

Kneeling down next to the sofa so he could better speak to his husband, Alfred allowed Arthur to pat his hand comfortingly as it shifted to sit over Arthur’s heart. “I said I’m sorry, Arthur…” Arthur hummed noncommittally, and Alfred leaned forward to press the matter. “I know you told me not to tell the secrets I learned from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed sleepily, if not hesitantly.

Alfred swallowed thickly as he finished his thought process. “Well, I don’t know if I can tell you the secret I learned when you already know it.”

Making a confused noise in the back of his throat, Arthur continued to pat Alfred’s hand as he mulled over what Alfred had told him. “Alfred, I don’t…” Arthur’s eyes shot open. “You read the Archives.”

Nodding fervently, Alfred looked at the hand that sat atop Arthur’s chest. He could feel the slow, steady beat of Arthur’s heart beneath his hand, but didn’t let himself be distracted by it as he spoke to his husband. “Yes. Yes, I did… but… Arthur?” Alfred looked back up at Arthur’s eyes to see his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep. “Arthur? Are you asleep?”

“No,” Arthur whispered lightly. “Just… resting my eyes, Alfred.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you mad?”

Covering a quiet yawn with the back of his empty hand, Arthur mumbled his response. “I’m sure I will be somewhat upset when I’m more aware of what you’ve done, but in the meantime, I’d be quite content to close my eyes once again.”

For a few seconds, Alfred let this information sink in as his husband shifted on the couch and let out a long exhale. Alfred’s hand was pleasantly caught beneath Arthur’s and the way that Arthur easily dozed off made him feel a little better. Yao said that Arthur couldn’t find peace… but there he was, easily falling asleep while Alfred was in the room. All of the mumbo-jumbo about their souls being good for each other was looking more logical with every passing moment.

                But no matter how happy or content Arthur seemed, Alfred still worried about his troubling past.

                “Arthur?” He asked, shaking the hand on Arthur’s chest back and forth. “Arthur, just tell me one more thing… please?”

                Taking another sharp breath, Arthur’s eyes scrunched up as he nodded his head slowly. “I will answer only on the condition that you allow me to rest my eyes again.”

                “Sure, yeah, fine…” Alfred agreed loosely as Arthur’s thumb stroked along the back of his hand. “Arthur, just… are you okay? I mean, with Donovan and your mom being so –”

                “Alfred,” Arthur interrupted swiftly. “I know what happened, lad. I was there.” Alfred nodded and tried to hide his burning cheeks as Arthur put his empty hand on the back of Alfred’s neck soothingly. “I’m fine, Alfred. Never better.”

                “You’re sure?”

                Arthur let out a gentle laugh as he patted Arthur’s hand over his heart. “I’m sure, Alfred. Now let me sleep.”

                Closing his eyes, Arthur turned his face toward the back cushions of the sofa and sighed happily. Alfred smiled fondly at the man that he was hopelessly and desperately in love with. Even the confession to himself made his heart feel a bit lighter. When he began to pull away from Arthur, he realized that his hand was held hostage against Arthur’s chest, and Arthur had left his hand on the back of Alfred’s neck. He was pinned to the side of the couch with his head almost resting against Arthur’s side. Needless to say, it was a bit awkward.

                “Um, Arthur?” He murmured carefully, watching the way Arthur’s eyelashes began to flutter as he dreamt. Alfred knew that if he stayed in the same position for too long, his back would be killing him later… but Arthur needed to sleep. And who was he to deny Arthur what he needed? “Ya’ know what? Never mind. Goodnight, Arthur.”

                With that, Alfred leaned forward and laid his head on Arthur’s stomach and closed his eyes, hearing one last “Hush now, Alfred…” from Arthur’s lips as he fell asleep in his husbands arms.


	9. Decoris

                With a bored sigh, Alfred turned a piece of paper over in his hands. He knew that he shouldn’t be tired, but he was ready to curl up on the sofa in the study nonetheless. Arthur had been taking to his afternoon naps with more and more vigor as the days had gone on and their hands had been locked together the entire length of the nap nearly every time. As much as Alfred loved sitting on the floor next to Arthur and holding his hand while he slept, it was throwing his own sleep schedule out of whack and with every turn of his head, he was reminded of the developing crick in his neck.

                “Arthur,” he started quietly as he turned the paper over again and looked over the words without actually reading them. Arthur made a questioning noise from the sofa where he was sitting and reading a book. “When did you say the Ball of Hearts was?”

                There was a rustle of fabric, and, without even glancing, Alfred knew that Arthur was taking his glasses off so he could think. He always did that; and Alfred always loved it. Arthur would get a faraway look in his eyes when he thought and the earpiece of his glasses would rest against his lips while he recalled some unknown bit of information. He was a perfect man, even in repose.

                After a few seconds of consideration, Arthur breathed a quiet sigh. “Strange. I’d almost forgotten that the ball is drawing near… you must have been distracting me.”

                Alfred snorted and stared at the invitation in his hands. April fifteenth was written in a looping, slanted script. “Yeah… sure,” he said under his breath with a smile. Arthur covered a dainty yawn behind his hand, and Alfred smiled wider. “I’m totally distracting you.”

                When Arthur lowered his hand, he scowled down at the book in his lap. “April fifteenth, Alfred. The ball is on April fifteenth – one week away from today. The same day every year... why had I forgotten?” Arthur tapped his gloved index finger against the russet cover of his book. “My thoughts have been so topsy-turvy, lately… I swear it must be all this _sleeping_ that’s getting in my way. Completely unnecessary, I say.”

                Alfred sat back in Arthur’s armchair as the Queen set his book on the table and continued to mutter about how so much sleeping was getting in the way of his daily routine. He knew that it was good for Arthur to be sleeping after one hundred years of insomnia, but he agreed with the fact that it was cutting an awkward line through the flow of their day.

                For the past six days, Arthur had been chanting the traditions and methodology of Spades to Alfred in the mornings, falling asleep on the sofa with Alfred sitting next to him on the floor after lunch, and sending him away in the late afternoon hours to attend fencing or riding lessons. It was nice to have a naptime, but it was doing serious damage to the muscles in Alfred’s back.

                “This is ridiculous,” Arthur grumbled as he tried to wipe fatigue from his eyes. “How am I more tired every day when I sleep more often?”

                Alfred put the invitation on the table with a chuckle. “Your body is trying to take care of you.”

                “I don’t _want_ to be taken care of…” Arthur sighed and turned his sleep-clouded eyes onto Alfred. “I want to do the work that I always do. There are taxation documents that must be looked over, not to mention I have to make sure that Yao saved a copy of the response I sent to Kiku –”

                “Kiku?” Alfred interrupted quickly, watching as Arthur covered his mouth as he yawned again.

                “Yes,” Arthur breathed after a moment. “Kiku Honda is the Queen of Hearts. I sent him a letter in return for his invitation.” Alfred opened his mouth to ask what the reply said, only to have Arthur hold up a silencing hand before he could get a word out. “I told him that I would be bringing the new King of Spades, Alfred. You will be expected to attend the ball. As is tradition.”

                “Right, right…” Alfred agreed quietly as Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut.

It was only a matter of time until Arthur threw his legs up on the sofa and leaned back against the cushions. Arthur would whisper something about being tired, and Alfred would be naturally drawn to him, pulled by his magnetic presence and would gladly take Arthur’s hand. Arthur would quickly fall asleep when he was there, but Alfred knew that if he continued to indulge Arthur’s need for rest, their sleep routines would get even more scrambled.

“Arthur!” He shouted loudly, watching as Arthur jumped and his eyes shot open in surprise. His green irises immediately found Alfred, looking for the cause of his shouting. “You can’t keep sleeping like this. Why not lay down in a bed?”

Arthur frowned and brushed his gloved fingertips under his eyes. “I’m… I haven’t slept in my bed for quite some time, Alfred. Furthermore, it hasn’t slipped my attention that you have been falling asleep with me for the past several days…” Arthur trailed off with a thoughtful purse of his lips. “I couldn’t very well take you to bed with me.”

At ‘take you to bed with me,’ Alfred felt his heart begin to pound nervously. Laying down with Arthur under the covers… their hands locked together and foreheads just barely touching until Arthur hiked up his chin and… Alfred swallowed. Just the thought of sharing a bed with Arthur was enough to make his heart race and his toes curl in his boots. Alfred could admit to letting his mind wander in his desire for Arthur, but, in the calm of the night while he waited for his dreams, he would imagine what it would be like to have Arthur beside him, warm and vulnerable with sleep. He could almost feel Arthur’s hand in his as they laid in bed together, silent and sure in their serenity. Why wouldn’t Arthur want that?

His mouth moved faster than his mind, and before he could stop himself, he sat forward in his chair and asked, “Why not?”

Blinking slowly, Arthur crossed his legs and leaned his chin into his palm tiredly. “’Why not’ what, Alfred?”

Alfred knew it was too late to go back but hesitated nonetheless. Licking his lips, he met Arthur’s stare cautiously. He wanted to be closer to Arthur, of course, but if Arthur didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with him, but if Arthur didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with him, Alfred wouldn’t push the subject.

“Well,” he said slowly as Arthur heaved a quiet yawn. “Why not… take me to bed with you?”

There was a brief moment where Arthur didn’t react, but as soon as his sleepy brain evaluated the meaning of Alfred’s words, his eyes went wide and his cheeks flared a brilliant crimson while he sat up and sputtered. The response was enough to make Alfred feel a little bitter. It wasn’t a horrible suggestion. It wasn’t strange; they had been falling asleep together in the study for almost a week. And it wasn’t improper at the very least; they had been married for a month and then some. Not to mention the fact that Arthur always seemed to sleep better when Alfred was near him. Arthur had chalked it up to the Bond of Ages that formed between them, but Alfred always felt there was something more.

Sleeping in the same bed should’ve been a reasonable and viable option for Arthur’s sleeping dilemma, but when Arthur turned his face away and continued to trip over his own words, Alfred felt his heart twist uncomfortably. Even though he had tried to take Arthur’s feelings into consideration every moment they were together, Alfred still found the idea of rejection to be painful and unwelcome. Did Arthur really not feel… _anything_ for him?

“P-people,” Arthur finally managed to mumble as he pressed his gloved fingers to his pink cheeks. Alfred held his breath and waited for the rest of Arthur’s reasoning. “If someone sees us going into each other’s rooms, people will begin to talk.”

Letting out his held breath, Alfred smiled. “Well, we’ve fallen asleep in this study more than once, Arthur. I think people will talk… if they haven’t started already.”

As Arthur closed his tired eyes and didn’t take his fingers from his cheeks, Alfred allowed his heart to swell with excitement. Arthur hadn’t exactly said “yes,” but he hadn’t said “no,” either. But… did Arthur want it to be a secret, or was he just nervous about the reactions of the palace workers?

“I think that I…” Arthur began slowly as he opened his eyes to stare absently at the wall in front of him as he lowered his hand from his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be opposed to… well,” Arthur cleared his throat and gave Alfred an anxious glance as he smoothed the fabric of his trousers nervously. “Perhaps sharing a bed would be a wise choice of actions.”

“Yeah,” Alfred agreed quickly. Arthur made a sour expression, and Alfred quickly corrected himself. “I meant ‘yes.’ It’s very wise. We’ll both sleep a lot better, considering we’ll be close.”

Arthur hummed softly in agreement. “The Bond of Ages is an astounding thing. I never thought it would be the cause of my lack of sleep… but, it is undeniable; I do find an overwhelming sense of peace when you’re near me.” Arthur said softly before he covered another yawn with the back of his delicate hand. “I merely wish I wasn’t so terribly tired.”

With a fervent nod, Alfred sat on the edge of the armchair as he spoke to the Queen. “If you slept at night,” he waited until Arthur’s brilliant green eyes had locked with his before he smiled and continued, “in a _bed_ , you’ll probably feel better when you wake up.”

“Perhaps…” Arthur muttered mildly as he sat back against the cushions of the sofa.

Alfred worried his lower lip. If Arthur fell asleep now, he wouldn’t want to sleep at night. Moreover, Alfred would be lovingly urged to remain as close to his husband as possible, resulting in the worsening of his aching neck. Not thinking about such things, Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long, slow exhale. Alfred stiffened; Arthur was going to fall asleep. He had to keep him awake. Purely for the wellbeing of his neck, of course. That was it.

But how? If he yelled again, Arthur would be mad, and he hated to see Arthur upset. Jumping out of the armchair, Alfred stepped over to Arthur and took his husband’s hands.

“Get up, Arthur,” he ordered quickly, pulling a half-asleep Queen of Spades to his feet and holding his hands as they stood chest to chest.

Arthur made an inquisitive, breathy noise in in the back of his throat that sent sparks traveling to various parts of Alfred’s body. This time, he wasn’t imagining sweet, sleepy moments of intimacy but of ways to make Arthur recreate that sound. He stepped away from Arthur before the sparks that found their way in between his legs could stir up too much interest. Shaking away these thoughts and licking his lips, Alfred tried to think of better ways to keep Arthur awake.

“You can’t sleep yet,” Alfred said quickly, fumbling for an excuse while Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and gave him an unimpressed stare. “We… we’re going to, um…” Glancing around the study for an excuse, Alfred caught sight of the capital city just outside the glass doors to the balcony. “I want you to show me around the capital!”

Arching a regal eyebrow, Arthur took a deep breath. “The capital?” He echoed incredulously.

“Yes, the capital. Right now,” he grabbed Arthur’s hand and hauled him through the door. “Let’s go right now.”

“Do _not_ pull me along, Alfred,” Arthur protested haughtily even though he allowed himself to be led out of the study and down the stairs. “What has brought on your sudden fascination with the capital?”

Alfred took a left turn and struggled to remember the ways to the throne room and the great doors that would lead to the front gates of the palace. “The only time I’ve been outside the palace gates was when we went to that cliff that you like so much. And that was weeks ago. Besides, I like spending time with you, so it’s kinda a win-win situation.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, walking easily with Alfred until he shifted his hand to entwine their fingers together in a way that made Alfred smile. By the time Alfred had gotten them lost and Arthur and rerouted their way to the throne room, Arthur was wide awake and willingly, if not hesitantly, going along with Alfred’s half-baked plan.

                “Do we have to wear these?” Alfred inquired blandly as he ducked down and let Arthur set his crown atop his head.

                Arthur smiled and gave Alfred a nod when he stood up straight, adjusting the way the crown sat nonchalantly on his head. “Yes, we do, Alfred. The King and Queen are expected to wear their crowns when in the presence of their people as symbols of the weight they bear as rulers of the kingdom.”

                Alfred glanced at the intricately decorated crown on Arthur’s head. “Sounds poetic.”

                “Somewhat poetic, yes,” Arthur murmured as he smoothed his hands down the front of Alfred’s vest, plucking at a stray string here and brushing away a bit of lint there.

                Trying to distract himself from the light touch of Arthur’s hands, Alfred cleared his throat and concentrated his eyes on the glint of Arthur’s crown in the light of the sun that streamed through the windows of the throne room.

                “So, Arthur,” he said lowly, casting a cautious glance at the large, formidable doors that would lead them to the outside world.

                “Yes, Alfred?”

                “Do you go out to the capital often?”

                Arthur tilted his head to the side thoughtfully as he straightened Alfred’s collar with a smile. “Before you came to us, I would go out to speak with the people of the capital at least once a week.”

                Alfred winced. “And then… I showed up and messed up your little schedule?”

                “You definitely turned things upside down, Alfred,” Arthur chuckled as his gloved fingertips brushed just under Alfred’s jawline. Before he could properly react, Arthur’s fingers were pulled away and returned to his sides. “But that’s no matter now. I’m glad you want to go to the capital. Showing an interest in our culture is a very good quality for you to have, Alfred.”

                When Arthur said that, Alfred felt a twinge of guilt bolt through his heart. He just wanted to keep Arthur awake. He hadn’t actually thought of the culture at all. Trying to shake away the gnawing feeling, Alfred smiled uneasily and nodded his head while Arthur smiled up at him fondly.

                “Very well, then…” Arthur said softly as gave Alfred’s arm a swift pat. “Shall we be off to the capital?”

+++++

                “Alfred? Are you all right? You look ill,” Arthur murmured as they stood just outside the palace gates.

                He was frozen in place, gaping out at the crowds that stopped to stare at them. Arthur seemed oblivious to the attention or, at the very least, so used to it he didn’t notice it. A solid hand landed on Alfred’s arm, causing him to jump. He turned to Arthur and saw a slightly concerned smile weighing down his graceful features. Alfred, on the other hand, was scared out of his mind.

                The hustle and bustle of the capital was staunched by their appearance, and, though many people nodded their heads or bowed respectfully, most people simply stopped, looked at Alfred, and proceeded to whisper in his or her neighbor’s ear. It felt like each and every one of them was judging him in their own way, waiting for him to make some kind of mistake so they would be able to tie him up and throw him to the dogs.

                “They’re all staring,” he said carefully as Arthur gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “ _All_ of them are staring at us.”

                Glancing down, Alfred stole a look at Arthur’s smile before the Queen turned his face away to gaze out at the crowds. “They are your people, Alfred… and you are their King. Naturally, I’d want to see who my ruler is, as well.”

                “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Alfred mumbled as a young, brunette girl smiled and gave him a cautious wave.

He raised his hand and waved back a bit, causing an almost audible sigh of relief to ripple through the crowds. Beside him, Arthur’s shoulders dropped from their normal, stiff line and seemed to relax along with the crowds. After the wave of smiles and reassuring nods were exchanged by the people of Spades, the crowds were off and moving as if the King and Queen were just two more people amidst the masses.

Without saying anything, Arthur took off in a straight line through the large, open square of the capital, stepping around young children that kicked a small sack of beans to one another and bowing his head at elderly folk as he went. Alfred followed close behind, turning his head to and fro to see the people laughing and shouting to one another, completely at ease with the King and Queen among them. Bartering, trading, and hawking could be heard all around him. Alfred stopped Arthur more than once to say, “Arthur, look!” or, “Did you see that?” and when he saw a girl sitting outside a shop with the smallest hammer he’d ever seen, he tapped Arthur’s shoulder and whispered a quick, “What is she doing?”

All of the questions were received with Arthur’s welcome smile and a stable hand on his bicep. Probably to keep Alfred from wandering off while they stood watching a woman tap a nail into the bottom of a shoe.

“She’s a cobbler,” Arthur explained smoothly as the girl whacked the tiny hammer against the shoe and gave it a hard look before tapping once, twice, and finally thrice more. “She’s making a pair of shoes, Alfred. Surely you’ve seen such feats in your old home, yes?”

Alfred blinked. His old home? Spades was his home. But… home… was that with his mom and dad, back in his own dimension? He’d almost forgotten how much he’d missed them with Arthur’s calming companionship. He’d gone a week without thinking about the card that could take him home and the people he once missed dearly. As he stood with Arthur amid the streets of people that treated him like one of their own, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. He was… dare he even think it, _happy_ to be with Arthur and not back in his old dimension. If he was back there, he wouldn’t have fallen in love, and the man he was destined to be with would be all alone.

“Alfred?” Blinking hard to rid himself of his confused thoughts, Alfred looked down at Arthur to see his face had drawn down into a frown. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine, I was just thinking.” Alfred laughed a bit to lighten the heavy air that had settled around them, feeling his heart ache happily when Arthur smiled. Looking around at the lines of shops and people pushing carts filled with things from cabbages to swords, Alfred took a deep breath of fresh air and turned his smile back to Arthur. “This place is beautiful.”

Arthur hummed thoughtfully, giving the cobbler a respectful inclination of his head before turning on his heel and continuing forward. Alfred kept an easy pace at his side, making sure that their hands brushed with every step so Arthur knew he hadn’t wandered away.

“This is only the capital, Alfred,” Arthur said warmly as several people greeted the Queen and bowed their heads as they walked past. “Past the Astri Mountains of the East,” he lifted a hand to point off into the distance, and Alfred followed the hand carefully, squinting up at the mountains that were a hazy, blue outline on the horizon. “There are farms and pastures that can be up to a league wide and long. They go on for… what seems like an eternity. I do love this city, but…” Alfred looked down to see Arthur’s smiling face highlighted by the warmth of the spring sun. “When you’re out in those fields surrounded by nothing but the tall grasses, it’s…”

What it was, Alfred would never know. Arthur simply trailed off with a forlorn smile on his face, looking past the blue fog of the Astri Mountains and into a fond memory. Though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason why, Alfred found this action to be strangely endearing. With the sun hitting Arthur’s face just so, he could see the dark circles under his eyes were disappearing and being replaced with a more youthful glow that became more apparent when Arthur smiled or laughed.

Arthur’s emerald eyes slid over and caught Alfred staring but instead of shying his gaze away, Alfred simply grinned happily as Arthur’s ducked his face to hide the flattering flush that traveled from his cheeks to his neck when he caught Alfred looking. Without even realizing, Alfred found himself once again swept away in his fantasies of Arthur. He wanted to find where his hands and Arthur’s body fit together perfectly. He wanted to furiously unbutton Arthur’s pristine shirt and vest. Wanted to see if his body could fit against Arthur’s as neatly as his hands could. Needed to find a way to make Arthur’s blush spread and his pores weep. He needed…

Shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge his dirty thoughts, Alfred cleared his throat as a little boy, no older than three-years-old, waddled up to Arthur and fell against his leg with a happy squeak. Arthur peered down at the boy with an expression on his face that was almost the exact vision of a new grandparent looking down at their grandchild. Alfred felt his chest grow warm at the sight.

“My, my… hello there,” the Queen said with a chuckle in the back of his throat as he bent down and pulled the boy up and into his arms. “Come to say good afternoon, did we?”

The baby smiled shrieked at a decibel that made Alfred wince, but Arthur must’ve thought it was the most delightful sound in the world with the way he laughed and crooned to the boy. Just when Alfred thought Arthur couldn’t be any less stuck up than the Arthur he knew and loved, the baby fell forward against Arthur’s shoulder and wrapped its tiny arms around his neck while Arthur closed his eyes and swayed back and forth. Alfred’s eyes widened at the way Arthur had taken the baby into his arms. It was so natural. With the way Arthur whispered to the child, Alfred might’ve assumed that the baby really _was_ Arthur’s grandchild.

“Arthur?” Alfred piped up slowly as several people paused in their daily routines to stop and smile at the Queen. Arthur hummed out a flat tone in response. “Whose kid is that?”

A woman rushed past a cart before it ran over her foot and stopped in front of Alfred and Arthur with a breathless smile. Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a messy braid, and she wore riding pants that he’d seen some of the horse groomers wear. “He’s my son,” she smiled as she looked at Arthur’s content face. “And he absolutely adores you, Your Majesty.”

“I know,” Arthur murmured through his closed-eyed smile. “And I assure you that I adore him, Cynthia. He looks more like you every day.”

Alfred tried to fight the frown that came across his face but found his efforts to be futile when the woman, Cynthia, gave him a considering smile. Did Arthur know _everyone_ in the Kingdom of Spades? Arthur knew every palace worker by name and age, and he could place them into specific branches of families and ranks, but to know that Arthur knew the random people of the Kingdom was just mind blowing. Even though Arthur’s trust in his people was commendable, Alfred was a little envious. The people loved Arthur so much, Arthur didn’t feel the need to walk around with any guards or protectors, and he was happy to hold a baby while the mother put a familiar hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Alfred wanted to throw his arms around Arthur and have the Queen close his eyes and sigh happily. He wanted to smile at him and say that he adored Arthur and have his husband respond in kind. He wanted it, but he couldn’t come out and say it. So he hung uselessly at Arthur’s side while the Queen shifted his weight from his left foot to his right and hefted the baby onto his hip.

“Pardon my manners,” Arthur said after a moment of idle chat with Cynthia. He gestured to Alfred with his left hand politely. “Cynthia, I’m sure you know that Alfred is the new King of Spades.”

“Indeed I do,” Cynthia said with a gracious bow at the waist. Alfred bowed his head too, hoping that his crown wouldn’t slip off of his head like an idiot.

“And Alfred, this is Cynthia Daun,” Arthur elaborated as Cynthia’s baby hiccupped and Arthur pat his back absently. “Her family has been raising some of the finest horses in Spades for the good portion of a century.”

“Aw, I’m not all that,” Cynthia waved her hand dismissively at the compliment even though her cheeks were stained a brilliant red. Alfred felt another pang of jealousy as Arthur and Cynthia looked at each other and smiled again as Arthur passed over the baby to his mother. “I’m still learning, but we’d be glad to have you out in the stables again.” Cynthia gave Alfred a glance before leaning forward and adding a quick, “Perhaps you can show him how to ride a _real_ horse and not a pampered one.”

Alfred didn’t want to ride a horse again, real or otherwise. If it was Winnifred, he could have possibly been talked into it, but any other horse was out of the question. They were terrifying. But if he were to be with Arthur on this magical ride through the country that he loved so much, Alfred would have been willing to walk along beside Arthur’s horse. Or if they could ride together on one of these “real” horses, it might not be as frightening. Really, if Arthur was with him, he probably wouldn’t be scared of trying… well, anything.

“Sometime soon, I’m sure.” Arthur finished with Cynthia, patting her hand softly before she turned away and waved back at them as she disappeared into the ever-changing crowds. Placing a hand on Alfred’s arm, Arthur gave him a quirked eyebrow. “You seemed to be lost in thought again. Are you growing weary of the capital already?”

 “What? No way,” Alfred exclaimed loudly, looking around for something to occupy their time and thoughts. “What has it been? Twenty minutes? I want to look around some more. It’s really interesting.”

Arthur nodded slowly in response, squinting up at the bright sky before shielding his eyes with a gloved hand. “We still have several hours of good light left, Alfred,” he said thoughtfully before he started off down the path again. “I know something you might like.”

As they walked down the lines of shops and carts, Alfred continued to stop Arthur along their trek to look at something or ask a question. When Alfred saw a man working on a glass sculpture through the window of one shop, Arthur smiled and waited just inside the door of the shop while Alfred peeked inside. Fierce dragons with translucent wings sat on some shelves while fairies and angels were suspended from the ceiling by thin wires. Aside from the real magic he’d seen in the Archives, it was the most magical thing he’d seen in Spades.

“Arthur look,” he breathed, marveling at the delicate marks that served as petals on a flower. Arthur stood next to the doorway of the shop, smiling whenever Alfred would look over at him. “How do they do it?”

“Heated glass,” a gruff voice called from behind the counter in the back of the shop. The man had bright red hair that was thinning at the top of his head, and his beady eyes squinted down at a blue flame that was burning atop the counter. “Heat the glass, bend the glass, and mold the glass… ‘s easy enough.”

Giving Arthur a humored look, Alfred huffed a laugh when he saw Arthur biting his lower lip to avoid laughing. “Well, it’s definitely the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The redhead at the desk lifted his eyes to give his King a dumbfounded look. “No, I just said you _heat_ the glass. Not _cool_ it.” He looked over at Arthur and jerked his thumb in Alfred’s direction. “Majesty, I think you’ve got a special one ‘ere.”

“I suspect you may be right, Michael,” Arthur said as he let out a glorious peel of giggles, and Alfred feigned an offended expression.

Hearing Arthur laugh was just one way Alfred knew that something was going right. Before the man had a chance to further insult Alfred’s intelligence, Arthur took his hand and gently led him away from the breakable goods of the store and back into the main streets of the capital. Even though Arthur had said there was someplace he wanted to take Alfred, they were casual about their promenade through the capital. Their slow pace allowed plenty of time for Alfred to watch a man sketch a portrait of Arthur’s thinking face while the Queen wasn’t looking, and just enough time to have Arthur sit down with him on an open bench and watch the crowds of people flow past them.

“He really shouldn’t have,” Arthur commented with a flustered shake of his head. He was talking about the man that had drawn him. Alfred bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as Arthur’s hands fluttered over his lips. “I look terrible in portraits.”

“Uh, that’s crazy,” Alfred laughed, leaning his elbows on his knees so he could steal a glance at Arthur’s downturned face. “I bet you look amazing in portraits. All of ‘em.”

Arthur’s hands fluttered again before they clasped together and fell into his lap while the Queen’s cheeks flushed and his green eyes shone with disbelief. “This… this isn’t the first time you’ve told me something so flattering. You needn’t be so kind, Alfred.”

Alfred frowned. “I’m not just being nice,” he sat up and straightened his crown on his head with a haughty sniff. “I’m stating a fact.”

Whether or not Arthur had taken his words to heart, Alfred didn’t care. He enjoyed letting out his affection… even if it was a little bit at a time. It relieved the stress his emotions put on his heart when Arthur frowned at a dying flower in the garden or got that sad, faraway look in his eyes when he was sitting with an open book in his lap. He couldn’t very well come down on Arthur with a hug when those things happened; Arthur would most likely be overwhelmed.

“Well now,” Arthur said clearly, snapping Alfred from his thoughts. Alfred looked over to see Arthur glancing up at the sky again. “We’re losing daylight by sitting here. The sun will be setting soon, and I’ve yet to take you to the blacksmith.”

Alfred’s ears perked up as Arthur stood and brushed off the back of his thighs. “Blacksmith? With like… swords and shields and knives?”

Arthur held out his hand for Alfred to take, and the King gladly took it, allowing himself to be taken away while Arthur murmured next to him, “And the forged tips of arrows, backings of laces, horseshoes, and several types of chainmail, yes.”

Alfred smiled. Arthur was always finding new methods to surprise him in the most pleasant ways. He had spirited Alfred away to a flower-covered cliff when he was first King, involved him in the international matters of the kingdom when he had no idea what they were, and even forgave him for sneaking around to learn about his unhappy past. No matter what it was, Alfred would probably be pleasantly surprised by anything Arthur did for him. And he would love him all the more.

“Here we are,” Arthur said with a flourish of his arm to an open shop that glittered with steel tools in the sunlight. Alfred’s eyes immediately fell on a large sword hanging on the far left side of the shop, and felt Arthur squeeze his hand. “Look but do _not_ touch, Alfred.”

“Right,” Alfred muttered as Arthur let go of his hand and allowed him to roam free.

He was good at looking at things but not touching what he wasn’t supposed to… his husband was a perfect example of his good manners. He knew that holding Arthur’s hand was perfectly polite when they were in public, but running his fingers through Arthur’s hair and kissing his perfect lips was out of the question. If Arthur didn’t want to be touched, he would respect it. ‘Look but do not touch’ was an easy rule to follow.

Stepping up to the enormous sword that was nailed to the wall of the shop, Alfred’s jaw dropped as he assessed the size. The sword had to be at least as tall as he was. At _least_. The end of the sword came to a point just like any other sword, but Alfred had a feeling it was something special about this one blade. From what he could see, the hilt was decorated with brighter, shinier bits of silver that had been welded into the shapes of small spades. Alfred smiled at the patriotism.

“The claymore, eh?” Alfred turned to see a well-built man that was easily in his fifties clap his hands together as he approached Alfred. His grey hair almost mimicked the silver color of the steel tools in his shop. Even his eyes seemed to carry the glint. Alfred smiled at him as the man nodded approvingly at the young King. “Excellent taste, Highness.”

“Flatter all you want, Bartholomew,” Arthur warned from the other side of the shop where he admired the delicate shaft of a bow before he turned a trained eye onto his husband and the blacksmith, Bartholomew. “We’re here to look, but not to buy.”

Bartholomew let out a booming laugh that shook Alfred’s eardrums, but Arthur didn’t react beyond raising his eyebrows. “Smart man, that one… but never gave in to calling me Bart. You’ll call me Bart, right?”

He gave Alfred a smile that the King simply couldn’t refuse, and Alfred nodded with a shrug. “Sure. I don’t see why not. It’s your name, not mine.”

Giving another head-rattling laugh, Bart clapped Alfred on the shoulder. “Good lad, this one. Good lad, good lad…” he gave Alfred’s shoulder a pat before turning his grey eyes to Arthur. “Mayhaps you could teach our Queen to be so giving?”

“Bite your tongue, Bartholomew,” Arthur warned sharply as he ran his gentle fingers over the length of a steel-tipped bow. Alfred restrained himself from reminding Arthur about the looking but not touching rule. “Such a rude boy.”

Alfred’s lips parted around an exaggerated “oh” while Bart laughed. Boy? Alfred didn’t think that Bart was anything close to a boy, but there Arthur was, using his superior age. Bart didn’t seem to mind, though. Apparently he was used to Arthur’s snappish antics.

“I’ve always been rude, Highness,” Bart chuckled as he ran his thick fingers through his dense beard. He leaned over to grumble in Alfred’s ear, “Been scolding me since I was just a sprout, if you can believe it.”

Pursing his lips and putting his index finger against his chin, Alfred pretending to be deep in thought as Arthur turned around to look at him and Bart. Arthur raised his eyebrows as if to ask what he was doing, and Alfred merely turned to Bart and gave him a stiff nod.

“I can believe that.”

While Bart laughed and Arthur made a befuddled expression, Alfred turned his eyes back to the merchandise that was pinned to the walls and laid across animal skins on small tables. Arthur whispered the “no touching” rule once more as he wandered across the shop past Alfred, placing a warm hand on Alfred’s shoulder before slipping away to look at something else.

Even if he wasn’t looking at a grand sword or shield with the symbol of spades on it, Alfred found himself immensely impressed with Bart’s handiwork. Just like the glass artist, Bart had shaped everyday items into something completely beautiful and unique with his own two hands. There were abstract spindles of curved steal that, by Bart’s proud exclamation, were commonly used by everyday people to clean out the hooves of their horses more effectively. Woven baskets held piles of silverware with the symbol of spades carved into the handle of each piece.

Behind him, he could hear Arthur asking for a chair so that he could rest his legs for a moment and the concerned grumbling from Bart before the clatter of a wooden chair against the floor could be heard. Alfred continued his round of the store quietly. He occasionally looked up to see Arthur sitting in an old chair, idly chatting with Bart, and Arthur would almost immediately look to him and smile. Alfred would smile back, and then resume his exploration of the eclectic art that could’ve been used for battle or for baking.

By the time Alfred had looked at every little thing in the store and turned his eyes back to the far corner where Arthur sat, he saw Arthur’s eyes were closed and his lips were parted around every hushed, tired breath. Bart had moved to the front of the shop, talking to a woman about sharpening her meat cleaver, and if he knew that Arthur had fallen asleep, he was very good at not showing it.

Walking over to the chair where Arthur was currently napping, Alfred knelt down and smiled up at Arthur’s fluttering eyelashes. Maybe Bart _did_ know that Arthur was asleep and didn’t want to wake him up. If Arthur had been walking around the capital once a week, it would have been easy for any of the people to notice the bags under his eyes. They were probably just as worried about Arthur as he was. Because they loved him. Maybe not in the same way Alfred did – if one of them did, Alfred would probably have a jealous fit – but they certainly loved the Queen that had fairly led them for over one hundred years.

“Arthur,” Alfred whispered as he gave Arthur’s thigh a solid tap. “Arthur, it’s a little early to be going to sleep. There aren’t any beds around here.” Blinking awake quickly, Arthur inhaled sharply as he sat up straighter in the chair. Alfred smiled and gave his thigh another pat before standing up. “Besides,” he smiled down at Arthur’s sleepy expression. “We haven’t even had dinner. It’s bad to skip meals, Arthur.”

Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushed himself out of the chair with a tired smile. “We can’t have that.” He smiled as he reached up to straighten Alfred’s crown. “I hate to deprive you of a meal.”

Alfred shrugged, brushing a piece of hair from his eyes while Arthur sighed quietly. “Arthur?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

Taking Arthur’s hand, Alfred started a lax pace toward the front of the shop, waving at Bart as they went. “I think it’s time to go home.”


	10. Libidinis: Arthur's Dream

                Arthur knew that he loved Alfred. It was painfully obvious by the adoration that rose up in Arthur when Alfred waved his salad fork around as he was describing the glass artwork he’d seen in the capital and all Arthur could do was give him a hopelessly happy smile. The adoration also appeared when he smiled or laughed or simply held Arthur’s gaze longer than twenty seconds. The feelings of affection had been bubbling up for quite some time, making Arthur’s skin itch when Alfred was too far and giving him dizzy spells when he was too close. The feeling was peculiar, but it was also exciting.

                Arthur hadn’t ever felt that kind of feeling for someone else before.

                True, the Bond of Ages was partially to blame for such feelings, but with every day he spent with Alfred, there seemed to be a new reason to be completely enamored with the boy. Even the way Alfred brought his water glass to his lips was becoming a source of intimacy for Arthur, and it felt as ridiculous as it sounded. But he knew what he wanted when Alfred set down his glass and licked his lips.

                What would those lips feel like against his own? Would they be as soft as silk, or rough and chapped? Would Alfred smile against his mouth? Would he gasp or sigh? What would he do if their head knocked together and their teeth clicked? Arthur found himself wondering about the feeling of Alfred’s tongue along his bottom lip when Alfred tapped the edge of his silverware against his plate. Arthur blinked and tried to make a face at the jarring sound but couldn’t help but smile at the childish act.

                “Tableware is not a musical instrument, Alfred,” Arthur said lowly, looking down at his full plate with guilt. Alfred had been talking and eating for almost a half an hour, and Arthur had been so caught up in his worthless daydreams, he hadn’t bothered to take a single bite.

                “What?” Alfred said numbly, halting the clatter of his knife against the fine dishware with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

                Arthur hummed and pushed a piece of chicken across his plate, soaking up the gravy that was most likely cold. Alfred began to babble about how he really liked the food that had been served this evening, and Arthur hummed positively when Alfred had to stop for breath. And that was how he ate – meticulously putting away one bite after the other as he contemplated his growing affections for Alfred. He chewed his food and swallowed but didn’t bother to taste it. He was too caught up in his thoughts.

                Alfred wanted to share his bed. Surely, he only wanted to sleep. He had been very clear in the study that it would be for the good of Arthur’s sleeping habits, so that must have been the reason. Wasn’t it? Arthur swallowed a piece of dry meat and reached out for his teacup while Alfred mentioned something about a book he’d found in the library the other day. He nodded at Alfred’s exuberant expression and gave him a soft smile but didn’t have the heart to listen.

                What if Alfred wanted more than just sleep? He was a young man. Nineteen-years-old and not getting any younger. Arthur was no stranger to the need for… tension relieving techniques and of sharing them with others. But he’d never felt so conflicted when he brought someone to bed. When he did allow someone into his bed, he’d only let them to stay in his mind for a night to sate his desires and nothing more. No matter how beautiful or charming the person was, Arthur had felt a severe pang in his gut that said it was wrong to allow them into his heart.

                But Alfred… oh, Alfred was unlike anyone he’d ever met. His sapphire eyes were more valuable than any gemstone, and his golden hair was worth more than all of the riches in the world. “Beautiful” couldn’t begin to describe him in Arthur’s eyes. With a witty tongue and clever disposition, Alfred could easily charm Arthur out of his trousers if he said the right words. And gods, Arthur would let him if the chance arose. Instead of feeling a nervous clenching of his stomach when Alfred had mentioned the bedroom, he felt heartbeat rush in his ears and his cheeks to burn with guilty excitement.

                All of this was well and good, but it didn’t answer the question that Arthur was desperate to know. Did Alfred want him the way that he obviously wanted Alfred, or was their relationship a strictly platonic affair?

                “Arthur? Did you hear me?”

                Blinking hard, Arthur saw that his plate was empty. Looking up at Alfred, he saw a glimmer of concern in those youthful irises. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?”

                “I… I just asked you a question,” Alfred smiled widely while Arthur set down his fork slowly. “After dinner, you normally just go to the study to read… right?”

                Arthur felt his heart rate pick up while he fixed Alfred with a level gaze. “Well, I do read amongst doing other things… That’s right.”

                Alfred pursed his lips and nodded slowly as if this information was new and needed to be well thought over. His fingers drummed against the table nonchalantly but the movement was still an impolite one. Just as Arthur opened his mouth to tell Alfred this, the young man stood up from the table and pushed in his chair.

                “Well, you’re really tired, so…” Alfred paused and smiled at Arthur again while the Queen’s heart continued to flutter nervously. “We should probably go to bed.”

                Alfred hadn’t nearly forgotten his little suggestion. Not that Arthur wanted him to, of course. It was just a matter of confliction for the Queen. To go to bed with Alfred or to struggle to fall asleep alone? One idea was better than the other, but Arthur knew he favored it for all of the wrong reasons.

                While he was sitting and thinking, Alfred had come around to his side of the table and pulled out his chair just as Arthur had taught him. “Thank you, Alfred,” Arthur mumbled in response, earning a bright-eyed smile from the young man as he did so.

                It was happening so quickly. Arthur’s hand was taken by Alfred’s and he was being led away from the table and through the corridors. Two men, one bed, and hardly a moment to breathe in between. How had it all occurred so quickly? They had gone from daily naps on the sofa next to one another to tucking themselves down under the covers. Flexing his fingers around Alfred’s, Arthur worried his lower lip. He would need bedclothes. But his bedclothes wouldn’t cover as much skin as his normal clothes would. What if Alfred was put off by his bare skin?

                “I need to go to my room,” Arthur stuttered quickly as he pulled Alfred to a stop in the middle of a hallway. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

                “Do you want us to sleep in your room? I don’t care either way; my feet are just tired –”

                “No, no,” Arthur interrupted quickly. Sleeping in his room was less than desirable. Donovan had drunkenly stumbled into his bedroom more than once, harassing Arthur until he simply found somewhere else to hide for the night. No, it would be better to go to Alfred’s room. “No, not my room. I need to get my nightclothes.”

                “Oh. Sure, then.”

                And just like that, Arthur was leading Alfred to his own bedroom with quaking knees. When they were in bed with one another, would Alfred stay on one side of the bed and not come anywhere close to him? Would Alfred reach out and touch him? Arthur’s eyes went wide. What if he didn’t like what Alfred did? If Alfred make him feel horrible like Donovan had, what would he do? Alfred wasn’t anything like Donovan, but there was still a chance that Arthur might react the same way, no matter how much he adored Alfred.

                Alfred stood in the doorway of Arthur’s room while the Queen picked through drawers of different clothes quickly. His hands felt unsteady as he pulled a cream-colored nightshirt and a loose pair of white trousers out of a drawer, but when he took Alfred’s hand again, he felt comforted. Their bond was growing stronger, but whether or not it was due to the magic of Spades, Arthur wasn’t quite sure.

                “I’m just gonna use the mouthwash stuff real quick and put on my pajamas,” Alfred mumbled as he opened the door to his room and let Arthur inside.

Arthur remembered standing in the same room only a few months ago when he’d met Alfred. He’d been searching for a lamp that hadn’t run out of oil, and, just as he lit it, Alfred walked through the walls and into his life. Now, watching Alfred stumble around his room and struggle to pick up a shirt and pair of pants that he’d left there this morning, Arthur allowed a nostalgic smile to play on his lips. If Arthur had known that he would eventually fall so completely in love with Alfred that he’d feel nervous about even sleeping in the same bed with him, he wouldn’t have been so cold to the boy when he’d first appeared in Spades.

“You can change out here while I’m in the bathroom,” Alfred said as he pushed the dirty articles of clothing into a hamper on the far side of the room. Arthur didn’t miss the faint pink that stained his cheeks while he turned to Arthur with wide eyes. “I mean, if you want to wait for the bathroom, that’s fine, too! Whatever you want… to…”

Smiling and patting the nightclothes in his arms softly, Arthur shook his head. “I think I can manage to change my clothes without aid of the bathroom, Alfred.”

“Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” Alfred nodded as he snatched his own nightclothes and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door with a solid _thud_ in his hurry.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur looked around the room. It seemed to be kept in well enough order, considering Alfred had a tendency to make a mess of things whenever he walked through a room. But the blankets were wrinkle-free and well-made, most likely due to Fredrick, and the clock on the nightstand was still ticking away.

Dropping his clothes on the large, blue blanket that covered Alfred’s bed, Arthur made quick work of his vest. At least, he tried to make quick work of it. His hands kept shaking when he tried to undo the buttons, but when he’d finally managed to take the vest off and lift his shirt over his head, he heard the door of the bathroom open.

“Stop!” Arthur shouted quickly as he wrapped his arms around his torso and ducked down behind the side of the bed, hearing Alfred sputter and slam the door shut.

“Sorry! I didn’t know you weren’t done!”

Arthur felt a blush creep from his cheeks and down to ears and neck, thoroughly igniting his skin with shame. He’d hidden from the man he loved like a child. It wasn’t as if he was standing in the middle of the room stark naked when Alfred opened the door. So why was he trembling the way that he was? Reaching up a tentative hand, Arthur pulled his nightshirt down from the bed and slipped it over his head before he worked on pulling his boots off.

When he had managed to fold his clothes and neatly placed them on a table in the middle of the room, everything had been bathed in the gleaming light of the moon, rendering the oil lamps virtually useless. Licking his lips, Arthur walked around to the far side of the bed and sat down on the plush, sapphire blankets.

“I’m ready,” he called to Alfred, wincing at the way the words sounded coming from his mouth. Shaky and longing.

If Alfred couldn’t hear the obvious anxiety in his tone, then Arthur would assume the young man to be deaf. But when Alfred came out of the bathroom with a loose white shirt and saggy grey trousers covering his body, he made no move to comment on the way Arthur had summoned him. He merely took the bundle of clothes he had tucked under his arm to the hamper and dropped them there before he wandered over to the left side of the bed, opposite of Arthur. While he did this, Arthur allowed himself to admire his view of Alfred’s attire.

The v-neck of his shirt showed more skin than was necessary, and Arthur swallowed nervously at the sight of Alfred’s exposed chest. The shirt only covered three-quarters of Alfred’s arms, but the loose sleeves couldn’t quite cover the muscles that flexed in Alfred’s arms as he ran a hand through his hair. Arthur took a deep breath and tried to avert his eyes, only to find his gaze sinking down to watch the way Alfred’s hips rolled through every step as he approached the bed.

“Well,” Alfred said awkwardly as he tapped his hand on the nightstand. Arthur’s eyes snapped up from Alfred’s thighs and guiltily banished themselves to the ticking hands of the clock on Alfred’s nightstand. Alfred sniffed and sat on the bed slowly. “How do you want to do this?”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he looked to Alfred’s face. He could hear blood rushing in his ears while Alfred blinked and looked around the room, waiting for an answer.

“How do I want… what?”

Scooting onto the bed further, Alfred hummed for a second before shrugging. “I don’t really know… like, do you want to set some ground rules, or…”

Arthur blinked. “Ground rules.”

“Yeah, like… ‘Don’t touch me,’ or… um…” Alfred licked his lips and Arthur squirmed where he sat, a bit uncomfortable. “‘This side of the bed is mine, so don’t come over here.’ That kind of stuff.”

Picking at a stray string on the blanket, Arthur bit at the corners of his smile. “I don’t really think I have any rules, Alfred. Shouldn’t it be simple? Lie down and close our eyes… that’s how sleeping works.” He lifted his eyes to see Alfred giving the blanket a very serious stare. “Unless _you_ have rules that you want _me_ to follow?”

“Nope,” Alfred said as he fell sideways onto his pillows with a ridiculous grin. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the way Alfred kicked his legs onto the blankets and wriggled until he was comfortably lying on his back. “I don’t have rules. I’ve never slept in the same bed as someone else. But, hey! I’ve also never been married, so we’re two for two!”

“How fascinating,” Arthur hummed while Alfred took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. “Do you always make a habit of sleeping atop your blankets, as well?”

“Nope,” Alfred sighed again, not losing his goofy smile. Arthur swung his legs up and onto the bed, shuffling until he could rest his head against the pillows. Alfred turned his head to squint at Arthur, and the Queen wondered just how much Alfred could see without his glasses. “I was waiting for you to get under first.”

Arthur smiled. “This is very much like a game of chess. One of us will have to make the first move, Alfred.”

“Are you scared you’re going to make a wrong move and I’ll win?” Alfred asked with a hard squint. Arthur prayed that Alfred couldn’t see the blush that burned across his cheekbones as he licked his lips.

“I’m very good at chess, Alfred. I don’t think I’ll lose.”

Relaxing his face, Alfred smiled wider and gave Arthur a slow blink. “We should play sometime and see if that’s true.”

Arthur almost leaned forward to catch Alfred’s lips. He could have. They were just close enough that if he shifted just so, he could taste the smile on Alfred’s lips. He could have, but he shouldn’t. It would ruin whatever level of intimacy they had just entered. So Arthur took a breath, closed his eyes, and dragged his lower lip though his teeth before answering Alfred with a whisper.

“That sounds like a fine idea, Alfred.”

Alfred was quiet for several minutes, simply looking Arthur’s direction with a soft smile that never seemed to dissipate. Arthur stared back at Alfred, no matter how much his royal training screamed at him that staring was impolite. Alfred was more important than a silly, social rule. He was beautiful and deserved to be admired in silent adoration.

Without his glasses, Arthur could see Alfred’s clear eyes without any light glaring against the lenses. When he was allowed to see them only a few inches away from his face, he saw flecks of darker blue scattered in Alfred’s sky blue irises. Small, pink ovals showed where the nosepiece of his glasses rested on his nose, and Arthur found it oddly endearing when Alfred reached up a hand to rub at them, dropping the hand on the blankets when he was done.

“I’m tired,” Alfred breathed, washing Arthur’s face with a minty scent. Arthur stifled a yawn as it rose up in his lungs.

“Perhaps you should sleep then.”

“You, too.”

Neither of them moved. Alfred continued to stare at Arthur while his every blink became slower and his yawns became more frequent. Perhaps this was love as well. Being able to be completely comfortable with someone else while sitting in silence, gazing at each other while time passed by them. Well, Arthur was gazing at Alfred. Alfred probably couldn’t see Arthur clearly. That didn’t bother Arthur at all. He was too tired to mind.

When Alfred’s hand slid over to sit on Arthur’s pillow, Arthur didn’t hesitate to cover that hand with his own. It was the only way he could show his affection without scaring Alfred away. Alfred sighed contentedly, and Arthur smiled when he saw that his blue eyes had fluttered shut. He stayed awake for several more minutes, fighting the downward force that pulled on his eyelids, but when he closed his eyes one last time, he couldn’t open them again.

Even with closed eyes, he could still hear the slow and steady pace of Alfred’s breathing next to him. The warmth of Alfred’s hand was more sheltering than any of the blankets could’ve been. Arthur smiled as he let out one last yawn.

“Alfred?” He breathed, trying to force his eyes open but to no avail. When Alfred didn’t respond, Arthur took his chances and whispered, “I love you.”

+++++

                “Arthur?” Alfred said when he lifted a rook and placed it back down on the chess board slowly. They were playing their promised chess game, sitting in the study with a chess set borrowed from the confines of the library.

                “Yes, Alfred?” Arthur picked up a pawn and slipped Alfred’s rook off of the board and into his hand, putting his pawn in the place the rook had once been.

                “I have…” Alfred put his fingertips against a pawn and squinted at the chessboard. “No idea…” He slid the piece forward, and then slid it back onto its original square. “How to play this game.”

                Sitting back in his chair, Arthur covered his eyes with a hand and shook his head. Of course Alfred would mention this when they had been sitting at the chessboard for nearly twenty minutes. Taking a deep breath, Arthur removed his hand from his face and reached forward to take Alfred’s King from the board.

                “Checkmate,” he sighed with a bored expression. “I win.”

                Alfred sputtered before jumping up and reaching for the piece. “Hey, that’s cheating!”

                “How can you tell?” Arthur asked as he held the chess piece away from his husband. “You don’t know how to play the game.”

                “No, but I know that’s cheating. Give it back!”

                Arthur sighed, putting the piece back onto the table. “You simply are hopeless.”

                “I’m not hopeless,” Alfred said, kneeling down on the floor as if he was going to pick something up. Arthur raised an eyebrow as Alfred pushed his legs apart and stared up at him with defiant eyes. “I’m _amazing._ Get that through your head.”

                “I don’t…” Arthur couldn’t feel his hands as Alfred leaned forward and placed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He instinctively let his legs fall open even further and gasped, but he didn’t pull away. He was captivated by the sight of Alfred’s lips against his leg. “A-Alfred?”

                Alfred hummed as he continued placing hot, moist kisses along the inseam of Arthur’s trousers. Arthur felt his cock grown with each kiss, but his hands didn’t move from the arms of his chair. He was shocked and frightfully aroused by the actions. What was Alfred _doing_? Whatever it was, Arthur hoped to the gods that he didn’t stop.

Swallowing hard, Arthur watched with avid fascination as Alfred slid right hand up to rub along Arthur’s other thigh. How did they go from one-time bedmates to shameless lovers? Though he wanted to ask Alfred, the words never found their way to his lips because Alfred leaned closer and licked at Arthur’s growing erection through his trousers. Arthur bucked his hips forward against the warmth of Alfred’s mouth, only to hear Alfred grunt and reel back.

“Sit still,” the younger man ordered, stationing a hand on Arthur’s hip.

Alfred only moved his hand to pull Arthur’s cock from his trousers, and then the hand was set back on his hip. Arthur closed his eyes and gasped at the sensation of Alfred’s warm hands. One hand held Arthur’s hips down while the other wrapped around Arthur’s cock, stroking slowly and dragging a loud string of moans from Arthur. Arthur felt as if he was blinded by excitement and helpless from pleasure; the sensations were there, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

Arthur had opened his mouth to ask – no, _plead_ for more – when Alfred leaned forward and gave one long lick from the base to tip, causing a bolt of pleasure to spark down Arthur’s spine and steal his words. With one last look up at Arthur through heavy eyelids, Alfred licked his lips and took Arthur into his mouth.

Arthur’s senses reeled, and his hands held tight to the arms of his chair while his lips parted around a slight, “Oh.” The inside of Alfred’s mouth was warm and slick as he wrapped his lips around Arthur. Arthur’s eyes went wide as he gasped for breath. Alfred would _never_ do such a thing… or would he? Arthur didn’t bother to question it further as the hand on his hip fell away as Alfred struggled with the button on his trousers before he could throw his hand shamelessly into his pants, jerking forward with every sweep of his tongue on Arthur’s cock.

                Without Alfred holding his down, Arthur canted his hips forward in his chair, and watched Alfred’s eyes screw shut as his mouth worked around Arthur’s cock. “Good gods, Alfred…” he breathed as Alfred’s tongue flexed and slid along the bottom of his erection. “You certainly… know what you’re doing.”

                Alfred moaned out his approval as he continued to lick, kiss, and suck. It was horrifyingly pleasurable, no matter how foreign the sensations were. When Arthur was alone, he could achieve a fair amount of pleasure, but it was a whole new experience with Alfred. He’d never felt his body ache to be touched like this, and never before had the anticipation built up so painfully yet so sweetly. Even Alfred seemed content on working himself as Arthur panted and shivered in his chair. With a sharp inhale, Arthur felt his thighs clench as he tried to stave off orgasm.

                “Al-Alfred,” he gasped while Alfred hollowed his cheeks and gave a particularly hard suck, only acknowledging Arthur’s voice when he raised his blue eyes nervously. Arthur gripped the arms of his chair tightly, relishing the feeling of being brought so close to the edge of release as he fought to control himself and not pull Alfred’s hair to bring him closer. “I’m… I’m going to –”

                Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as a he felt something _crack_ against his face. He jolted awake and sat up in Alfred’s bed with a loud gasp, holding his aching nose.

                “Arthur?” Alfred called sleepily next to him, obviously not awake enough to know what he’d done.

                Looking about the room, Arthur noted that it was still the middle of the night. Not even early enough for the suggestion of daylight to make its way into the room. So everything with the chess game and Alfred between his thighs was a dream. A very vivid and _very_ arousing dream. Trying to ignore the pulsing between his legs and how his skin tingled with sweat, Arthur swallowed a thick mouthful of saliva. Gods, he wanted to touch himself. He hadn’t had a dream like that in… what seemed like years.

                He had to behave. Alfred was lying next to him, and he knew that Alfred wouldn’t want to know about Arthur’s… less than polite thoughts of him. Trying to direct all of his attention to the pain in his face, Arthur breathed out a groan while he heard Alfred sniffle and sit up, hitting his hand on the nightstand as he did.

                “Arthur? Did I hit you?” Clinking sounds came from the nightstand on Alfred’s side of the bed. Retrieving his glasses, no doubt. “Oh my god, I did. I’m sorry…. So, so sorry! I’ve never slept in the same bed with someone else. I’m sorry… Arthur, I’m sorry.”

                Arthur hummed in response, not trusting his voice. Gods, what if he had said something aloud while he was sleeping? Even if it was one word, it might’ve been Alfred’s name. If he had said anything, Alfred could have heard. But Alfred didn’t give any clues that he knew about his predicament… so perhaps he had been quiet.

                “Are you bleeding? Are you okay?” Alfred placed a shaking hand on Arthur’s back and began to slide it up and down in an attempt to comfort him.

                Arthur couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips at the feeling. Alfred’s hands were warm and strong, just as he’d imagined in his dream. But there they were in real life, burning holes in the fabric of his nightshirt as Arthur caught his breath. Now Arthur could only imagine Alfred’s hands grasping at the sheets while he gasped for breath, or running those warm hands down Arthur’s chest, and then reaching down, down, down…

                “Oh, _gods_ …” Arthur said into the hands that cupped his face, closing his eyes tight and leaning forward to further hide his erection in the pitch black room.

                Both of Alfred’s hands found his shoulders again and continued their stroking, clearly not getting the message that Arthur shouldn’t be touched. “Arthur, I’m so sorry! Jesus… what did I do? Punch you?”

                “I’m fairly sure… it was your wedding ring that did most of the damage, Alfred,” Arthur breathed heavily, brushing away the tears that formed in his eyes.

The pain in Arthur’s face as well as the tension in his cock were teaming up and sending erratic messages to his brain. Pain here, pain there, pain everywhere. Arthur sniffled nervously to make sure that he wasn’t bleeding. No blood dripped down. Well, there was one good thing for the night.

                There was more rustling as Alfred removed his left hand from Arthur’s shoulder, perhaps to see if his ring was on his finger, and then the hand was back. At least what he could feel was nice. Warm palms pressed against the curve of his shoulders as Alfred’s thumbs dug down underneath the line of his shoulder blades. He was pulling at tight muscles and pushing down on all of the pressure points that made Arthur squirm.

                Before he could rationally think through his actions, Arthur dropped one of his hands and kneaded it into to the sheets beneath him while he let out a long, heady moan. Alfred’s hands weren’t even touching what he desperately yearned for them to touch and yet there was magic in his fingers. It made his skin feel like it was covered in lye and his arms feel like liquid tar. Alfred gave a small grunt as he hit a knot in Arthur’s shoulder and the sound went straight to Arthur’s cock. The Queen bit his lower lip and refused to let out an approving whine.

                “Your shoulders are _really_ tense. This is why you shouldn’t sleep on the sofa, Arthur… does your face still hurt?”

                Making a disgruntled noise, Arthur shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge Alfred’s hands, only to miss the warm feeling they brought when they left. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Arthur paused nervously as he felt Alfred reach out and grasp for his hand. His thighs were already slick and trembling with a need for release. If he didn’t scurry off to the bathroom soon, he’d have to explain to Alfred why he was sweating so much.

                “Are you bleeding? Do you need help? Arthur, please talk to me. I’m really sorry,” Alfred’s voice echoed around the walls of his room, and Arthur sighed.

                “I’m not bleeding,” he grumbled, rubbing at his nose crossly while Alfred’s hand grasped at his other, clammy palm. “I’m all right… It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done it on purpose,” Arthur took a breath as Alfred grumbled something unintelligible. Arthur swallowed before muttering, “I’m going to… to check in the mirror. I’ll be back in a moment.”

                “Do you want me to light a lamp for you?” Alfred asked anxiously, and Arthur heard the rustle of blankets while he shuffled off of the bed.

                “I’m fine, Alfred. I can find my way.”

Arthur stood up quickly on his shaky legs, scrambling in the direction of the bathroom while he heard Alfred striking a match. When light finally bloomed in the oil lamp and bathed the bedroom, Arthur was two steps from the bathroom doorway and Alfred was still by the bed. Upon entering the bathroom, Arthur pushed the door shut, engulfing himself in darkness once more. Fumbling for the lock on the door, Arthur didn’t relax until the _thunk_ of the lock in the tumbler was heard. Pressing his back to the door, he closed his eyes and took slow, heaving breaths.

Outside, Alfred called in a worried tone, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Leaning his head back against the door, Arthur let himself sink to the floor in a tactless, graceless heap. He was horrible. Having such phantasmagorical vision of Alfred in his head… His normally clean thoughts had fallen short of being a gentleman, let alone a Queen. Yet, the idea of Alfred being so intimate with him was one that he couldn’t deny to be alluring.

Giving in to his baser urges, Arthur shoved his hand into his pants and licked his lips before he called back to Alfred, “I’ll be out in just a moment, Alfred.”

                If he worked quickly, he could simply join Alfred back in bed and pretend as if nothing had ever occurred. Biting his lower lip, Arthur tried to smother the moans that threatened to echo off of the bathroom walls as he stroked himself. His hands were shaking and adrenaline coursed through his blood with the fear of being caught, but, in the darkness, Arthur could almost imagine that the hand on his cock was Alfred’s.

                Alone in the bathroom, he could feel Alfred’s hand, just a bit bigger than his own, grasping him a little tighter and stroking him a little faster. Arthur gasped as he pushed his thumb up and along the head. Alfred could’ve been sitting behind him, reaching around Arthur to touch what he so desperately wanted to have touched. Arthur decided it would be fine to imagine the door as Alfred’s sturdy chest, grown stronger by long afternoons of training with the palace guards. Lean arms held him steady as the hand in his trousers picked up a frantic, erratic pace.

                Alfred’s hand worked until Arthur couldn’t think straight anymore. Alfred’s name was on his lips, and though Arthur never said it, he could feel his mouth shaping the sounds over and over again as his empty hand clenched painfully. He could feel Alfred’s hot breath tickling the back of his neck as his toes curled against the tiled floor of the bathroom. He wanted to finish… to feel Alfred’s arms around him tighten and to hear garbled words of praise from Alfred’s pale, pink lips… he _needed_ it. To feel Alfred with him, under him, on top of him…

                “Al… Alfred,” he whined softly as his back arched away from the door and came, finally, all over his hand and thighs.

                For several seconds, he merely sat back against the door with a pounding heart and over-stimulated senses. His skin was on fire, blazing a brilliant crimson flush while he struggled to take a proper breath. He’d never felt so pleased with himself and so disgusted all at once. He’d abused his vision of Alfred for his own use. True, it had felt amazing in the moment, but the pleasure was already beginning to fade. Reality was quickly coming back to him.

Had Alfred heard him? How loud did he say Alfred’s name? Arthur worried his lower lip and slowly pulled his slick hand from his pants, frowning guiltily as he did. He couldn’t go back to bed like this, but he couldn’t even feel his legs at the moment. He had to wait until he could slip out of his underwear and somehow sneak them into the hamper. Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. Alfred was just outside.

Allowing himself a moment to breathe, Arthur opened his eyes to see an out of focus view of the bathroom. Only a few steps away two, navy blue hand towels sat on the edge of the washtub. Pulling himself up on shaking legs, Arthur stepped out of his trousers, setting his sticky underwear aside as he wobbled over to the sink. After dipping the towels in the cold water of the washtub, Arthur wiped off his hands and made quick work of the evidence that was slowly dripping down his thighs.

At the quiet knock on the door, Arthur’s heart jumped up to his throat as he braced his shaky hands against the edge of the sink.

“Arthur?” Alfred asked the door quietly, muffled by the solid, oak door. “Are you okay?”

“Just… just cleaning up, Alfred,” Arthur called uneasily as he wadded up his wet underwear and folded the soiled towel around it. Setting the towel aside, Arthur hastily pulled his loose trousers back on, making sure that they were indeed dry before he spoke again. “I’m all right.”

“Cleaning up?” Alfred questioned as Arthur splashed a bit of cold water on his face. “Oh god, you were bleeding, weren’t you? I’m so sorry…”

Tucking the towel under his arm, Arthur gingerly opened the door of the bathroom, peering out and seeing a distraught Alfred leaning against the doorframe. “I’m all right,” Arthur repeated as he slipped out of the door and over to the hamper.

Alfred held the oil lamp steady for Arthur as he pushed the towel down underneath the other discarded garments to be washed.

“I bet that towel is ruined now, isn’t it?” Alfred grumbled crossly while Arthur bit his lip.

“Yes,” Arthur breathed as he started to shuffled back to the bed again. “It probably is.”

Alfred followed behind Arthur silently, placing the oil lamp on the bedside table as he and Arthur sat on their respective sides of the bed. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The air was thick with discomfort, and Arthur had no heart to ask if Alfred knew exactly what happened in the bathroom.

“Can I see?” Arthur’s eyes flickered up to see Alfred staring at him. Shifting on the bed to sit closer to Arthur, Alfred leaned towards him as he elaborated. “Can I see where I hit you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Alfred reached out a hand to brush across the bridge of Arthur’s nose softly. It was almost light enough to make Arthur giggle, but the Queen wasn’t in much of a laughing mood. He merely let his eyes flutter shut as Alfred’s fingertips traced under his eyelids. He felt Alfred’s feather light touch on his eyelashes, and the feeling of Alfred’s warm breath washing over his cheek when he leaned over to see Arthur’s face in the light of the lamp.

“I hope it doesn’t bruise,” he whispered. Arthur hummed in confirmation, not opening his eyes as Alfred whispered, “With the Ball of Hearts coming up, and all… I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

When Alfred retracted his hands, Arthur opened his eyes to see Alfred’s concerned expression. He couldn’t help but think of what face Alfred would make if he knew what Arthur had just done in the bathroom. Would he be angry, or… Arthur shook his head. He was terrible. Too ashamed to look his husband in the eye, Arthur ducked his head and looked at his pillows.

“Yes. That would be a shame…”

Several more long seconds passed them by, each one heavier than the last. Arthur had resorted to scratching his fingernail across the smooth, sapphire-colored fabric of the blankets to pass the time while Alfred pat the plush covers awkwardly.

“Arthur, if you don’t want to sleep with me anymore, I totally –”

“No,” Arthur objected too quickly, feeling his throat constrict nervously when Alfred’s blue eyes rose up to meet his. “I don’t want to leave, I just…” Closing his eyes and searching for an excuse, Arthur let out a sigh. “I’m just very tired.” At least that much was true.

Alfred nodded slowly, as if this was common information. Bringing his legs up onto the bed, Alfred laid back against the pillows and opened his mouth in a wide yawn.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” He sighed sleepily, patting Arthur’s pillow twice.

Smiling just a bit, Arthur eased himself down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling instead of Alfred’s angelic face. “Yes, I think sleep would do me good.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

There was a beat of silence, and Arthur turned his head to see Alfred watching him with sleep-clouded eyes. His pink lips parted and he breathed out a quiet, “I’m sorry I hit you. I really didn’t mean to. Honest.”

Taking a deep breath, Arthur turned his face back to the ceiling, lifting a hand to brush over his tender nose. “I believe you,” he confessed before turning to lay on his side with his back to Alfred. “Now, we’d best get back to sleep.”

Alfred yawned again, and Arthur quickly echoed it while Alfred murmured, “Goodnight, Arthur.”

Already feeling his body begging for sleep, Arthur closed his eyes and whispered, “Goodnight, Alfred,” just before the bed dipped and he heard Alfred blow out the flame in the oil lamp, leaving both of them in the dark once more.


	11. Tripudium

                “The Ball of Hearts is fast approaching, Alfred,” said Arthur in the garden as he lifted his teacup to his lips and held it there. “We’ll need to prepare accordingly.”

                Pursing his lips, Alfred nodded slowly. They had only been awake for a few hours, but Alfred had a feeling he was missing something. Their first night of sleeping together in the same bed hadn’t gone as well as it could have. Hell it went down-right awful. He’d somehow smacked Arthur in the face while he was sleeping, and after a fair amount of time spent with Arthur hiding in the bathroom, they’d both fallen back into a restless sleep.

When they had woken up at six o’clock, Arthur had merely given him a quick “Good morning,” before slipping away to his own room to get dressed. And because Arthur had yet to comment on the accident last night, Alfred couldn’t help but feel he was holding something back.

                “It is a ball, of course,” Arthur continued causally, taking a sip of tea and then placing his cup back on the table before finishing his thought. “You’ll need to learn at least one dance for the occasion.”

                “Right,” Alfred nodded, absently pushing his piece of bread across his plate as he watched Arthur lick his lips and pour a bit of cream into his tea.

                “Perhaps the waltz? It should be simple enough. Considering you aren’t the most graceful creature on the planet, a traditional dance would probably land you on the ballroom floor.”

                “Sure,” Alfred agreed dully, looking down at his piece of bread sadly. He wasn’t hungry. The thought of Arthur being mad had put him off his breakfast.

                When there was an extended period of silence, Alfred lifted his eyes to see Arthur watching him carefully. His normally kind eyes were clouded over with worry and his thin lips were turned down in a frown. Alfred felt his stomach clench painfully as he waited for Arthur to speak, but Arthur didn’t open his mouth. If Arthur was really upset, Alfred wanted to make it right.

                “Hey, Arthur?”

                There was a flicker of hesitation in Arthur’s eyes, but it was concealed when the Queen lowered his eyes to the table when he picked up his teacup again. “Yes, Alfred.”

                “About last night…” Alfred watched as his husband’s eyes went wide and a blush ran across his pale cheeks. Alfred bit his lip. Maybe Arthur was trying to hide his anger for being hit?

                Setting his teacup back on the table slowly, Arthur kept his eyes trained down. “Last night?”

                “When I accidentally hit you,” Alfred explained slowly, tapping his finger along the edge of his plate while Arthur took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry again. I mean, you’ve been really quiet this morning. I’m not saying that being quiet is bad, I just… I’m sorry.”

                Sitting back in his chair, Arthur gave Alfred a kind, if not uneasy, smile. “You’ve apologized more times than is necessary, Alfred. It was an accident. It’s quite all right, I assure you…” Arthur brushed his gloved fingers over the curves of his cheekbones before sighing, “I’m not in any pain.”

Alfred nodded slowly as Arthur took a sip of tea before looking up at Alfred through a fan of golden eyelashes. He had a fiery glint in his eyes that made Alfred’s stomach churn in a nervous, giddy kind of way. Alfred liked it when Arthur looked at him that way. He’d never seen Arthur look at anyone else like that.

“That aside,” Arthur continued with a haughty flick of his wrist. “I haven’t been quiet at all this morning. I’ve been speaking about the Ball of Hearts for quite some time…” Arthur’s green eyes flashed a warning at Alfred. “Unless you weren’t listening?”

Alfred held a hand to his heart in mock surprise. “Not listening? Me? Of course I was listening to the sound of your melodic voice.”

Arthur sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Is that so? What was I saying?”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Alfred struggled to recall what Arthur had been talking about when they sat down together. Arthur had said something about dancing… did he want Alfred to dance with him? No, that didn’t seem right. Arthur would be more upset if Alfred had ignored some kind of invitation. Raising his eyebrows, Alfred spread his hands open in surrender.

“Dancing?” He guessed monotonously with a shrug. Arthur smiled and shook his head.

“Is that a question or a statement, lad?”

Alfred picked up the bread from his plate and took a bite while Arthur sighed and took a sip of tea. If things were still fine between them, perhaps the night together had gone better than Alfred had thought. Even though there were a few bumps in the road, the idea of sleeping in the same bed was still a good one. Rather than have a stiff neck, Alfred had woken up with a pleasant warm feeling in his chest and Arthur lying next to him. Of course the morning had started a bit awkward, but now… Alfred didn’t fight the smile that came to his lips as he chewed his mouthful of bread.

“We could always talk about something else,” Alfred reasoned with a smile as Arthur shook his head. “Like… I don’t know. Something else aside from dancing. I can’t even dance.”

Tapping his finger against the rim of his teacup, Arthur pursed his lips. “That is exactly why we need to talk, Alfred. You need to learn to dance for the Ball, otherwise you will be standing in the ballroom with nothing to do but clap your hands.”

“Clapping is fun,” Alfred nodded to himself.

Alfred was willing to do anything to make Arthur happy, but there was definitely a limit. He’d do anything but learn to dance. When his parents had their tenth wedding anniversary, Uncle Williams brought Alfred to a very fancy dance studio where he was supposed to learn to waltz. As an eight-year-old, the idea of learning a dance was a little intimidating to Alfred. Nonetheless, Uncle Williams tried to teach Alfred and his son, Matthew, to stumble around the dance floor together.

He’d stepped on Matthew’s foot more than once, and they had tripped over each other several times, resulting in clumsy tumbles to the floor. Needless to say, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Alfred had staved off dancing for many years after that; from eighth-grade catastrophes to homecoming horrors, any kind of dancing convention was off limits.

Huffing once, Arthur crossed his legs and brought his teacup to his lips, not taking a drink as he watched Alfred over the rim of his cup. “All love of clapping aside… Alfred, dear boy,” Arthur took a drink and held the saucer close to the bottom of his cup. “You must learn to dance for the Ball of Hearts. It is tradition.”

Alfred could almost visualize the entire experience. He and Arthur would be out on the dancefloor, pressed chest to chest while Alfred dipped his head just so, feeling Arthur’s lips against his for just a second until… Alfred stepped on his foot and Arthur was caught, leading to the Queen falling to the floor. Wincing a bit at the thought of sending Arthur to the floor in a graceless heap, Alfred bit his lip and shrugged.

“Well… I’m not from around here. Maybe they’ll understanding?”

Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes with a humorless smile. “Doubtful. Ludwig and Kiku, the King and Queen of Hearts, may overlook your clumsiness, but…” Arthur narrowed his eyes and placed his cup back onto the table. “The King Diamonds, on the other hand… he would definitely say something.”

Leaning forward to drum his fingernails on the table, Alfred tried to catch Arthur’s wandering gaze. “The King of Diamonds?”

Arthur hummed and didn’t look away from the rose bushes off to the right side of the terrace. “Francis Bonnefoy is the King of Diamonds, and he is not…” Arthur frowned and coughed into his hand. “What I mean to say is that he isn’t quite what I’d call… How can I say this politely?”

Raising an eyebrow, Alfred watched as Arthur brought his gloved fingers to his mouth and ran his index finger along his bottom lip as if he could pull the words from his mouth. From the looks of it, the way he would describe the King of Diamonds was not a pleasant one. And if this whole Francis business was going to distract Arthur from Alfred’s lack of dancing knowledge, then Alfred was more than happy to pursue the topic.

“Just say it, Arthur,” Alfred ordered bluntly, smiling at the way Arthur’s eyelids fluttered when he turned to look at Alfred. “You don’t have to be polite when you’re with me.”

Frowning deeper, Arthur placed both of his hands atop the surface of the table and took a deep breath before letting out, in the quietest voice he could possibly acheive, “He is a right foulmouthed git, is what he is.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide as his smile grew. Arthur thought that was impolite? He’d be horrified to know about what kids at his school would say in the hallways. Putting his elbow on the table and leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, Alfred gave Arthur a smug look when the Queen lifted his eyes from the table. “He is?”

                “Yes,” Arthur huffed as he took a calming sip of tea. “Elbows off the table, Alfred.”

                Sliding his elbow off of the table slowly, Alfred pushed the subject. “Why is he a… um… git?”

                “He simply _is_ , Alfred. He’s rude, self-centered, and horribly childish,” Arthur shook his head quickly, as if he could shake away the second-hand embarrassment he felt from talking about Francis. “I don’t know how his poor wife can handle him.”

                “Who is his wife?”

                “Lili Zwigili. She’s properly from the Kingdom of Clubs where Francis was born in Diamonds.” Arthur took a deep breath and turned his teacup around on the saucer. “Poor thing… still so young.”

                Alfred felt confused. This was the most he’d really heard Arthur talk about the rulers of the other Card Kingdoms, but all he was learning was that Lili was young and Francis was a git. Arthur had taken the throne when he was sixteen and was married to Donovan when he was eighteen, so was Lili younger than Arthur when she became Queen?

                Alfred cocked his head to the side. “Yeah? How old is she?”

                Narrowing his eyes, Arthur sat back in his chair and uncrossed his legs. “She’s fourteen-years-old, at the moment. She’ll be fifteen in August.”

                Alfred swallowed. A fourteen-year-old girl was married to Francis the git. “That’s really… _really_ young. I mean… how long has she been married to him?” Alfred paused. “And how old is Francis?”

                “Nearly three years, now. And, the members of the royal family as well as the Jacks of the Card Kingdom cease to age once they reach their prime age of health and mental acuity,” Arthur murmured as he stared at his empty teacup.

                “I know that,” Alfred said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You haven’t aged for, like, one hundred years. I get it. So, how long has Francis been _alive_?”

                Arthur smiled at the correction, but it didn’t reach his worried eyes as he looked up to Alfred. “He’s been on the throne for almost seventeen years. He was twenty-six when he became King of Diamonds.”

                Giving out a long whistle, Alfred tried to digest the information. A little girl was married to a man that had been alive long enough to be her father. Was that a common occurrence in the Card Kingdoms? If one or both of the royal figures were killed or deemed unworthy of their thrones, they would be replaced with the next viable candidates chosen by the cards. It seemed a little odd to pick a little girl who had barely gone through puberty to lead a country… wasn’t it?

                Lifting his eyes to give Arthur a long, hard look, Alfred reasoned that it probably _was_ common to have young children pushed onto the throne. Fate had been kind to Alfred, bringing him to Spades when he was nearly an adult whereas Arthur and Lili weren’t so lucky. Arthur when he was sixteen, and Lili when she was eleven… It was a lot of pressure to put on a young adult.

                “Arthur,” Alfred said as he sat forward and stretched his hand across the table for Arthur. The Queen readily took his hand and brushed his thumb along Alfred’s knuckles in a soothing manner while Alfred debated what he wanted to say. “I remember you told me that you were scared when you were first married.”  

                “That I was,” Arthur agreed.

                Licking his lips, Alfred cautiously met Arthur’s warm, emerald eyes. “Well, I know that I was scared. Do you think… maybe Lili was scared, too?”

                With a sad smile, Arthur nodded. “No doubt of it, Alfred. I believe she’d be mad if she wasn’t afraid to be wed to an odious man such as Francis.”

                Laughing just a bit, Alfred squeezed their joined hands. “You really don’t like Francis, do you?”

                “No, I don’t,” Arthur shook his head as his smile grew into something more genuine. “He constantly reminds me of a mistake I made quite some time ago. And though a simple mistake on the dance floor wouldn’t be nearly as grievous, I’m sure he would hold it over your head as well.”

                “A mistake? You?” Alfred blinked owlishly while Arthur sighed. “What mistake?”

                Arthur waved his empty hand at the air like he was swatting away the question. “It’s in the past, Alfred. It means nothing to me, but Francis always insists that it was…” His green eyes went out of focus before they snapped back up to Alfred. “Don’t think that I’m going to forget about your dancing lessons, Alfred.”

                Wincing at the mention of dance lessons, Alfred frowned and pulled Arthur’s hand on the table closer to himself, nearly pulling Arthur across the table as well. The Queen made a garbled, shocked noise in response, holding one hand to the side of the table to stop Alfred from pulling him any farther. Alfred saw the way that Arthur’s cheeks flared a flattering shade of red, but didn’t comment on it as he tried to deter Arthur’s wish for dance lessons.

                “Arthur,” he said in the most serious tone of voice he could muster while Arthur blinked and pressed his lips together in a tight line. “I don’t want to dance.”

                “But –”

                “No. No buts, Arthur. I can’t dance. Put me out there on that dance floor, and I will somehow… set the palace on fire with my crappy dancing.”

                Arthur laughed at that. “Alfred, I assure you –”

                “People will be screaming, Arthur,” he assured his husband with a squeeze of his hand. Arthur rolled his eyes. “There will be fire _everywhere_. Coming from like… my feet. And… and then you’ll be on fire, and I’ll be heartbroken because I don’t want you to be grilled, and –”

                Holding up his free hand, Arthur gave Alfred the signal to stop. “Silence, Alfred. I beg of you…”

                Alfred stood up and leaned across the table, pressing his lips to the hand that was trying to stop him. “The ballroom will be on fire, Arthur,” he mumbled against the stiff fabric of Arthur’s gloves while the Queen watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite name. “I’ll fall into someone, and… they’ll fall into fifty other people. Domino effect.”

                Arthur slid his fingers from Alfred’s lips to linger on his cheek. “You ridiculously marvelous boy... I shall never understand you.”

                The feeling of Arthur’s hand on his cheek was more than soothing. It was intimate. Alfred could’ve drowned in the warm feeling that was quickly spreading from his face to his toes, but he had to drive his argument home. He had to get out of dancing lessons.

                “Do you want to be responsible for countless deaths? Arthur,” he leaned forward and crowded his husband’s face, feeling more than a little surprised when Arthur didn’t turn away or back down. Alfred held his face only two inches away from Arthur’s, looking back and forth between his emerald eyes before whispering, “I don’t want to be the reason the Kingdom of Hearts goes up in flames. Do you?”

                Taking his left hand from where it was captured in Alfred’s own hand, Arthur cupped Alfred’s cheeks and held him in place. They were so close, and Arthur was holding him like that… Alfred felt the urge to simply lean forward. He could close that gap between them with a kiss. Alfred felt his heart rate pick up at the thought. He wanted to kiss Arthur. But if Arthur didn’t want it, they’d be awkwardly stuck together for a foreseeable eternity.

                Swallowing nervously, Alfred searched Arthur’s endless, green eyes for hesitation, only to find that he couldn’t understand what emotion was hiding in his irises. Every one of Alfred’s senses were on high-alert. From the movement of Arthur’s lips, the smell of Arthur’s tea-scented breath, and the distracting chirping of birds, Alfred drank in the entire experience while he could before Arthur spoke.

                “You’re not getting out of learning to dance, Alfred. No matter how many times you threaten to set the palace on fire.”

                And just like that, Arthur’s hands were gone from his face and the Queen was out of his chair. Blinking hard, Alfred watched as Arthur retreated from the terrace quickly, leaving him leaning over the table with a gaping mouth. Was Arthur running away from him, or…? Maybe he was just as nervous as Alfred?

                “Hey!” Alfred called after his husband, jogging down the cobblestone paths in pursuit of Arthur’s graceful form. “Arthur, wait!”

Arthur was only a breath away. Walking in front of him with long legs covered in pale blue trousers and a slim torso that was accentuated by a form-fitting, navy blue vest. Alfred could almost reach out and pull him back to rest against his chest. He could almost turn his nose into Arthur’s hair and smell the familiar scent of lilacs that Arthur loved so much. Almost within reach, but only just out of bounds for Alfred… he couldn’t touch Arthur if Arthur didn’t want to be touched. It wouldn’t be right.

                Turning around to see Alfred, Arthur gave the younger man a pinched expression. “You shouldn’t address someone with the word ‘hey,’ Alfred. I’ve told you this many times before.”

                “Right. Great. Sure,” Alfred nodded, glancing at Arthur quickly to see a dark red blush staining his porcelain cheeks. Smiling slyly, Alfred licked his lips and took Arthur’s hand again as they walked into the sitting room. “You really had me goin’ for a second there.”

                “I had you going where, Alfred?”

                “You know, in the garden when you–” Alfred turned to see Arthur giving him a confused expression and decided that expression had gone over the Brit’s head. “You know what? Never mind.”

                Arthur stopped walking and their connected hands kept Alfred from continuing forward without him. As they stood hand in hand in the sitting room, Alfred felt a strange sense of tranquility wash over him. His heart was still fluttering with the aftereffects of Arthur’s breath on his lips, and when he saw the warm way Arthur looked at him, the world was coated with honey-sweet goodness. When Arthur gave a tentative smile, time slowed down. It felt as if gravity ceased to have an effect on Alfred. Being with Arthur was heaven on Earth.

                “Alfred?” Arthur hummed, tugging ever so slightly on Alfred’s hand.

Alfred blinked, realizing that he was grinning at Arthur like a lovesick idiot. Well, he _was_ lovesick, but he wouldn’t really call himself an idiot. Feeling Arthur trace his thumb over the back of his hand, Alfred smoothed out his smile into something less obvious.

“What’s up?”

With a shake of his head, Arthur sighed softly. “You seem to keep drifting off into your own daydreams. I wonder if perhaps, someday, you might forget to come back to reality.”

Alfred scoffed, reaching up a hand to push his glasses back up onto his nose. “If it’ll get me out of dancing lessons, I think I’ll daydream until the cows come home.”

Rolling his eyes once more, Arthur didn’t release Alfred’s hand as he headed for the door, dragging Alfred with him. “You won’t be so lucky, Alfred. You have six days to learn, and I’m not about to waste any one of them.”

+++++

                “You shouldn’t leave your trousers laying around on the floor, Alfred...” Arthur called from his place on the bed.

Alfred paused at the thought with a smile. _Their_ bed. Not just Alfred’s anymore. It was their second night sleeping together, and it was going much smoother than the first. They had spoken about the manners he would have to use when at the Ball of Hearts for most of the day before Alfred was sent to practice his fencing. They ate their meals at a leisurely pace as always and went to bed together as if they did it every day. Somehow, taking to his room already seemed natural. Maybe the Bond of Ages was having more of an effect on him than he realized, and their souls were entwined on a level he couldn’t quite understand. That would explain why it felt so good to be close to Arthur.

Arthur had already taken a bath, and as waiting for Alfred in bed. Toweling his hair dry in the bathroom, Alfred looked at himself in the mirror. He looked pleasant enough. His few months of training in the courtyard with some of the guards was paying off; his skin was tan from the long afternoons in the sun, and he had well-toned muscles from those long afternoons. Alfred smiled at himself in the mirror before reaching for the bottle of mouthwash. Who knew that Spades would be so good for his health?

Gargling his mouthwash loud enough that he knew Arthur would hear, Alfred almost choked when he heard Arthur begin to laugh at the sound. That happy sound… it had to be what heaven sounded like. If he heard Arthur laugh a genuinely, he could close his eyes and still see Arthur’s smile burned to the back of his eyelids. Arthur’s shoulders would shake just a bit, and he would hide his perfect smile behind his delicate hands. Alfred coughed and swallowed the magic mouthwash that killed germs in his mouth and gave his breath a pleasant, minty smell.

“I was going to pick them up before you came back,” he hollered to Arthur in return as he pulled his loose nightshirt over his head and walked back into the bedroom. “You just caught me off guard.”

Arthur gave a noncommittal hum from the bed, turning the page in a book that he was reading. Alfred had to remind himself to breathe at the sight. Arthur’s long legs were crossed at the ankle and his toes wiggled absently while Arthur bit his lower lip and traced his finger along the pages of his book. He was lounging back against the pillows sleepily, his eyes blinking slowly behind his reading glasses when he reached up a hand to brush his wet hair from his eyes.

It may have been a completely casual way to lay back and read a book, but as Alfred continued to watch Arthur, he realized that it was the most endearing and comforting sight he’d ever set eyes on. Arthur, the first person he’d ever fallen in love with, was waiting for him on their bed with the most peaceful expression Alfred had ever seen him wear.

Smiling brightly, Alfred climbed onto his side of the bed, depositing his glasses on his bedside table as he did. Arthur didn’t react as the bed dipped to make room for Alfred, keeping his eyes on his book as Alfred laid down on his stomach and gazed up at Arthur through blurry eyes.

“What’re you reading?” Alfred asked. He really didn’t care, but he liked the sound of Arthur’s voice. Alfred saw Arthur moved his hand up to his face, probably just adjusting his glasses, before the Queen spoke.

“A book about the care and upkeep of water lilies.”

Alfred felt his body itch for sleep, and he dropped his jaw in a long yawn. Arthur echoed the sound, and Alfred let his eyes fall shut as he tried to keep Arthur talking. “Is it good?”

“Is what good, Alfred?” Arthur asked blandly. Alfred heard a page turn.

“The book.”

“Oh. Yes, it’s very good. Very interesting,” Arthur mumbled in response.

Alfred sighed against his pillow as there was the sound of rustling fabric. The thick silver of his wedding band sat heavily on his finger, weighed down even more by the large sapphire gemstone that was nestled atop it. Arthur had a similar one, although it was a bit thinner to accommodate his smaller hands. They were brought together by some great, magical force that held together by the Bond of Ages, and yet they still wore their wedding rings as a symbol of their relationship. It made Alfred smile. Even though Alfred didn’t quite know what to call their relationship, there was definitely something between them.

Yawning again, Alfred struggled to keep himself awake as Arthur read something aloud under his breath. “I got hurt today.”

Silence. Pages turning? Alfred opened his eyes to see a closed book lying atop Arthur’s legs. Lifting his eyes, he saw two small, fuzzy green orbs looking at him. Arthur’s eyebrows were drawn down, and there was a frown on his lips, so Alfred attempted to give his husband a lazy smile.

“I got hit in the head by the hilt of Erick’s sword.”

“Oh, dear,” Arthur breathed. Alfred saw Arthur’s hand come up to brush along his face. The sensation almost tickled, but Alfred liked the warm feeling it gave him.

Closing his eyes, Alfred let out a tired sigh. “It didn’t leave a mark, but he told me to lay down for a while. They were going to get you, but I didn’t want to bug you.”

“Alfred, my dear boy, you should have let them tell me,” Arthur said softly. “I’m surprised you didn’t say anything at dinner.”

“It’s whatever,” Alfred yawned. The side of his head only throbbed for a half an hour before he was up and practicing his fighting moves. “I don’t even feel it anymore.”

There was the movement of fabric, and Alfred felt the pillow under his head shift just a bit before there was something warm pressed to the crown of his hair. Arthur’s hand brushed through his wet hair slowly, barely heavier than a piece of silk running over his skin. Alfred didn’t exactly know if Arthur was trying to be comforting or if he was looking for the point where Erick’s sword hilt had connected with Alfred’s skull, but the King of Spades hoped that it was the former.

Smiling a bit, Alfred felt Arthur’s fingers continued to card through his hair. “Feels nice,” he mumbled into his pillow, feeling the hand on his hair still for just a moment before it continued its ministrations.

“Is that so?” Arthur murmured. Pages turned again, and Alfred assumed that Arthur had opened his book once more. “Perhaps I’ll have to pet your hair whenever you injure yourself,” Arthur grumbled darkly as he continued to stroke Alfred’s hair.

Alfred hummed. “If that’s the case, I’ll start running into walls tomorrow.”

“No need, Alfred,” Arthur said slowly as his fingers dipped down to slide across Alfred’s neck. Alfred stiffened a bit as the hairs on the back of his neck rose, but didn’t open his eyes as Arthur’s fingers retreated back up to his hair. “You will start your dancing lessons tomorrow, and if you are indeed as terrible as you say, I have no doubt that you’ll hurt yourself.”

Barking a laugh, Alfred curled up against his pillow as Arthur chuckled under his breath. “And then you’ll pet my hair?”

Arthur sighed, and Alfred almost heard the smile in his voice when he breathed out a quiet, “If that is what you wish, Alfred.”

+++++

                “Good day, Your Majesties,” a thin man greeted Alfred and Arthur walked into the ballroom. “My name is Gerard, and I will be teaching you to waltz.”

Giving Gerard a quick once over, Alfred decided that the instructor was very standoffish. He wore a loose, white shirt that was tucked into a deep orange vest, and though the fabric was dingy and dull with wear, Gerard held himself the way that any nobleperson would. With his chin held high and his shoulders back, he almost looked like he was looking down his pudgy nose at Alfred. Alfred smiled. He held himself like a nobleperson, but he was obviously not as grand as he liked to look. The weather wasn’t nearly warm enough to make Alfred sweat, but Gerard had chosen to wear some type of velvet vest, and there was a glossy sheen of sweat lining his brow.

Arthur made no move to comment on Gerard’s attire or perspiration, opting to give Gerard a shallow nod of his head. “Good morning, Gerard. I won’t be needing any lessons, but my King on the other hand…” Arthur gave Alfred a considering glance before returning his eyes to Gerard. “He will definitely challenge your teaching skills.”

If it weren’t for the manners Arthur had taught him, Alfred would’ve given his husband a snappy retort. But, even if he had given the retort, Arthur would refute it with the recollection of the former morning where he threatened to set the ballroom on fire with his terrible dancing. Alfred bit his tongue and nodded respectfully at Gerard, just as Arthur had.

Gerard sniffed haughtily and gave a steep bow to the King and Queen of Spades. “Very good, Your Majesties. Let us begin.”

                Arthur slipped away to sit down in a chair that was waiting for him, leaving Alfred to stand awkwardly with Gerard in the middle of the dancefloor. Giving the stranger a raised eyebrow, Alfred watched as Gerard smoothed his hands down the front of his orange vest. He didn’t bother to wipe the sweat from his face, and Alfred suspected it was because of pride more than lack of caring.

“Now,” Gerard began with a clap of his hands. Alfred blinked and watched as he held a hand to his heart. “You will take your partner’s hand and lead them to the dance floor. Then, the men will bow and the ladies will curtsy,” the instructor explained, giving a demonstration of a bow with a wide flourish of his hand and a dip of his posture. Alfred nodded slowly as the wheels of thought in his head began to spin.

“What if the ladies don’t want to curtsy? And the men don’t want to bow?” Alfred questioned nonchalantly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What then?”

The instructor stood tall and narrowed his eyes skeptically. “The ladies will _curtsy_ and men will _bow,_ ” he said again slowly, as if Alfred had somehow misheard him. “As is tradition.”

Alfred turned to Arthur, who was comfortably situated in a soft chair on the far side of the ballroom with a book in hand and a cup of tea perched precariously on his thigh. Fredrick was standing next to the Queen, no doubt being the one that brought him the tea and his book. After a bow, Fredrick left the ballroom and Alfred called to Arthur, “Arthur, do they have to do that?”

                Arthur’s eyes didn’t lift from his book. “Only if they want to, in this day and age,” the instructor sputtered something as Arthur took up his teacup and daintily held it to his lips while he finished his statement. “The lines between male and female behavior have changed, Gerard; in some cases, the boundaries between genders have no right to exist. Do not try to fool my King into some false manners, or _I_ will be the one to teach him.”

                While Alfred smiled hard enough to make his cheeks shatter, Gerard the Instructor’s face turned a frightening shade of crimson before he clapped his hands together and gave a slight bow in the Queen’s direction. “You are truly wise, Your Most Royal Majesty.”

                Arthur took a sip of his tea.  “I have been alive for over one hundred years, Gerard. More than wisdom, it is experience.”

                Gerard gave another bow, and spoke sharply through his clenched teeth. “Well. Since you are so very _experienced_ Your Highness, maybe you _should_ be the one to teach your King. After all, you are so very _experienced_ in the ways of blurring the lines of gender.”

                Arthur set down his teacup and licked his lips. “The lines were blurred without my aid. Furthermore, this chapter is most intriguing, so I must decline your offer. My king would not be able to focus if I were to teach him.” Alfred’s heart jumped up to his throat at the suggestive comment before Arthur finished with, “I would most likely reprimand him for his incompetence, and I’m not in any kind of mood to scream at my husband.”

                Alfred’s heart dropped back down from his throat, through his chest, and down into his stomach. Arthur just thought he was stupid. Gerard fluttered his hands in front of his own face for a moment, then turned his back to the Queen of Spades and brought his attention back to Alfred.

                “Now then, the man and the lady will do whatever it is they wish to do, whether it be bow,” Gerard casted a spiteful glance over at Arthur before spitting out, “Or curtsy.”

                “Good show, Gerard,” Arthur called from his chair. Alfred could almost hear the smug smile in his tone as he spoke, and Gerard’s frustrated grumble in response was priceless.

                It was another reason to be absolutely crazy about Arthur. Alfred wondered if he’d run out of reasons someday, but at the moment, the reasons didn’t show any declining rate. There was his sense of value, his trust, his secretly good attitude, and now his acceptance of different lifestyles. Somehow Alfred’s entire dimension hadn’t grasped that concept, but Arthur had understood it easily. He would say something about his methodology being for the good of Spades, and some sense of duty kept him from being biased to any endangering views. Alfred smiled again. It was just another thing to love.

                “Hey, Arthur?” Alfred said his name questioningly, hearing Arthur hum in response. “That’s really cool of you.”

                Arthur brought up his teacup and smiled at the contents of the cup. “It’s actually rather warm, this afternoon. Perhaps you need to have another lesson on weather.”

                Alfred smiled wider and narrowed his eyes at Arthur. “I don’t think you get what I’m saying.”

                “Don’t try to distract from your lessons, Alfred,” Arthur responded pointedly, taking a drink form his cup andputting it back atop his leg before continuing to read his book. “Go on with your lesson, Gerard. I didn’t bring you in from the Outlands to disagree with our ideals.”

                Gerard grumbled something else and quickly grasped Alfred’s hands, bringing one up to rest on the instructor’s waist. The other remained trapped in Gerard’s warm, clammy hand. Trapped and disgusted. Though Alfred tried to squirm away from Gerard, the instructor was one step ahead of him, gripping the hand on his waist and holding it there, and crushing the life out of Alfred’s other hand. Truthfully, Alfred began to regret the fact that he didn’t have the strength of Spades in his favor. If he did, he could’ve just flexed his hand and shattered Gerard’s fingers. It would surely show the creep not to make him so uncomfortable.

                “The song will begin after all dancers are ready. Are you listening?” Gerard narrowed his eyes at the young King, and Alfred grunted something unintelligible in response. “Good. Now, the dance will follow these steps in slight variation.”

                And Gerard showed him the form of the waltz. Over, up, down, over… Alfred was confused just hearing the commentary as he moved. He was more than a bit distracted by the high-pitched, nasally voice of his less than helpful instructor. Every now and then, Gerard would throw in distracting cues such as, “after some time, you will need to turn this way,” or, “Keep your shoulders back,” and Alfred’s least favorite, “Is this really how a King is to behave while dancing?”

                Alfred frowned and snuck a glance over to Arthur, hoping that his husband would somehow deliver him from Gerard’s sweaty hands, only to see that his Queen was nowhere to be found. His book sat closed on top of his chair with the empty teacup, only lacking one particularly lovely Englishman. Alfred tried pulled away from Gerard once more and felt the sole of his boot hit an uneven surface, and he immediately stumbled back while Gerard stuttered a flurry of insults.

                “No, no!” He snapped, releasing Alfred’s hand so that he could reach down and grasp at the foot Alfred had stepped on. “You don’t even understand the flow of these movements. Why are you looking about the room so aimlessly? When you are dancing, you should pay attention to your dancing partner!” Narrowing his eyes as Alfred, Gerard stood up straight and pulled Alfred close again, holding his hand with an iron grip as he hissed, “Try _again_ , Your Majesty.”

                Alfred glared at Gerard. This was going to be a long afternoon without Arthur.

+++++

                “After you left, he yelled at me,” Alfred said as he laid back against the pillows with his eyes trained on the ceiling.

                Next to him, Arthur sighed into the soft, silky fabric of the pillows in response. After Alfred’s two-hour long dancing lesson, he went searching for Arthur. He found him in his study, working away at some new treaty that had just been delivered. Instead of welcoming Alfred into the study, Arthur had waved him away to help Yao in the library. The hours had passed easily enough. Yao told Alfred about the different kinds of balls and festivals that Spades had thrown in the past, and before he knew it, the sun was sinking low over the horizon.

                Arthur was already in bed by the time Alfred had gone back to their room. Under the blankets with a book in hand, Arthur’s eyelids were drooping even before Alfred changed his clothes and drank his fancy mouthwash. It must have been the business with the treaty that wore at him, Alfred mused as he stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom.

                “You poor thing,” Arthur breathed as he reached out a hand to pat the side of Alfred’s hair.

                Alfred hummed. “Yeah. He kept telling me that I wasn’t a good King if I couldn’t even pay attention to my dance partner… It made me feel stupid.”

                There was a yawn from Arthur, but Alfred didn’t turn his gaze from the ceiling. Arthur’s hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as Arthur whispered, “You are far from stupid, Alfred.”

                “Still,” Alfred pressed the issue, squirming on the bed as he imagined Gerard’s tactless routines. “His hands were all sweaty. And kinda sticky. It was gross.”

Arthur chuckled. It was a low, rumbling kind of laugh that made Alfred’s stomach flutter nervously. He could almost feel Arthur’s breath on his cheek, and the hand that lingered on his shoulder showed no sign of moving.

Alfred dropped his jaw in a wide yawn before he reached over to the bedside table and snuffed out the only lamp that lit up the room. The darkness was instant as it swallowed them whole, but the sallow illumination of the moon was quick to shatter it. Frail shadows were cast across the room, and Alfred looked down at where Arthur lay with his eyes closed.

“Maybe Gerard was right,” Alfred said as he removed his glasses and put them on the bedside table. He took Arthur’s reading glasses as well, along with his forgotten book, and set them carefully next to his own glasses.

Arthur gave a questioning hum as Alfred laid back down. “Right about what?”

Alfred smiled when Arthur placed his hand back on Alfred’s shoulder and didn’t move it. “Maybe you should just teach me instead of him. You had time before you ran away to the study.”

“I didn’t run, Alfred,” Arthur paused to yawn lightly before continuing. “I was given word that the notice had been delivered, and naturally, I wanted to see what the Kingdom of Ganniya had to say on the behalf of their revised treaty.”

“Uh-huh,” Alfred said as he turned to look at Arthur with his blurry eyes. “But if that didn’t happen, would you just teach me yourself?”

“I will dance with you at the Ball of Hearts, Alfred. Isn’t that enough?”

                Alfred bit his lip. “But… Gerard yelled at me. He made me feel stupid.”

                There was a smile in his words when Arthur responded with, “And you think I won’t make you feel stupid?”

                “You _literally_ just said that I’m not stupid.”

                Arthur sighed. “Ah, back to using the word ‘literally,’ are we?”

                Alfred groaned and rolled his eyes. “Arthur, please… please don’t make me dance with him again.”

                Sighing once more, Arthur slid the hand that was on Alfred’s shoulder down until it rested just over Alfred’s beating heart. “Four days left, Alfred… You only have to survive your dance lessons for four days, and then you can dance with me to your heart’s content.”

                Smiling at the thought, Alfred closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of lilacs that seemed to follow Arthur wherever he went. “Four days?” He asked airily while Arthur hummed noncommittally. “I think I can survive that long if you’re waiting at the end of it.”

                Just before sleep pulled Alfred under, he could’ve sworn he heard Arthur whisper, “I’ve always been waiting for you, Alfred.”

                And then the world was dark, and the sound of Arthur’s calming voice was lost beneath dreams that were tainted by the sweet scent of lilacs.


	12. Ballatio

                Alfred had only ever ridden in a horse-drawn carriage once before he came to Spades. He had visited his Uncle Williams in Canada for Christmas and his family had been treated to a sleigh ride in the snow. There were horses and places to sit, so it had to count as a carriage, right? Alfred liked to think that he had a little experience when the carriage hit a divot in the road and he didn’t fall over when the carriage shook.

                Next to him, Arthur was gazing out the small, glass window on the door. He’d been silent since they’d gotten into the carriage and that was over three hours ago. Taking a moment to appreciate the way his golden hair fell across his forehead, Alfred easily remembered their last moments in the palace.

                “You needn’t be nervous,” Arthur had said with a smile as he fastened the top button of Alfred’s billowing coat. “I’m sure Kiku and Ludwig will be more than happy to finally meet you.”

Alfred remembered looking down at his navy blue coat and the shining, gold buttons that started at his neck and chased down to his waist. Any more buttons and he would surely be mistaken for a robot. Knowing that Arthur wouldn’t understand the robot reference, Alfred kept his mouth shut and pulled at the gloves that covered his hands. Arthur wore similar gloves every day, but Alfred hadn’t expected them to be so stiff and not nearly so itchy. He needed a distraction, or he’d tear the gloves apart. Sighing, Alfred admired Arthur’s lovely attire.

The Queen of Spades wore a similar coat, though the color was a softer, robin egg blue that made his green eyes shine just a bit brighter. His long legs were covered by navy blue trousers and tucked into his typical, black riding boots. The only things out of place included the crown atop his golden hair and the lacy, white bow around his neck, peeping outside of his coat collar.

The designs of their coats were exceedingly uniform and patriotic. There were small, embroidered patterns of spades along the cuffs of the sleeves and collar and a large trail of spades ran down the seam to chase around the circumference of the garment. It was pretty, definitely, but it was also really heavy. Alfred almost complained about the weight, but Arthur would most likely reprimand him. Alfred settled on a different topic.

“Can’t we bring Yao?” Alfred had whined noisily as Arthur straightened his crown. Arthur clicked his tongue and smoothed his gloved hands down the front of Alfred’s chest, pulling at a wrinkle here or there. “If we get separated, I won’t know what to do.”

“Goodness me, Alfred… you sound like a child,” Arthur had said as his hands wandered down to Alfred’s hips, pushed apart the fabric of his coat, and tugged at Alfred’s thick leather belt, tightening it. Alfred squeaked at the action, but the Queen hadn’t acknowledged it. “Yao has decided not to come. That is his choice. The royals are expected to attend the balls; their Jacks have no such responsibility.”

“But, what if –”

Arthur had smiled as he brought his hands up to cup Alfred’s face, and Alfred found himself wishing that he had the confidence to lean forward just a bit more and taste the smile on Arthur’s lips. “As I said Alfred, you needn’t fear this night. I may be asked to dance, but I will not stray far from your side. We both find solace in each other’s company, and you must believe me when I say that I will not leave you alone to flounder in the crowds.”

And then they had been swept away, out of the palace gates and into the carriage. They had been riding for what seemed like an eternity, watching the scenery of Diamonds pass them by while they sat, bored, on plush seats. Alfred had taken Arthur’s hand more than once, but after a few minutes, his hand would get sweaty in his itchy, white gloves, and he’d pull away until he could comfortably hold Arthur’s hand again. Arthur never said anything about the movements, opting instead to stare out the window.

He wanted to break the silence, or, at the very least, break the tension that was developing between them. Licking his lips, Alfred squeezed Arthur’s fingers where they rested in his palm before he spoke.

“Fredrick wanted to come, you know.”

“Is that so?” Arthur murmured in a disinterested tone, blinking only when the carriage shook. Alfred frowned.

“He volunteered to be my guard in case you left me alone.”

Arthur hummed, but his blank expression didn’t stir. “What a valiant offer.”

Giving up on conversation, Alfred rolled his eyes and turned to look out his own window. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

“’Yes,’ Alfred,” Arthur corrected him quietly. “Not ‘yeah.’ I’ve told you many times.”

Pursing his lips, Alfred didn’t turn from his window. He felt agitated. And ignored. And tired of sitting in a carriage with his less than social husband. He flexed his fingers around Arthur’s but the gesture wasn’t reciprocated. Alfred turned to watch the sea of trees amble by and refocused his vision to stare at his reflection in the glass. His face had melted into a glare without his permission. It didn’t like the way his twisted face paired with the freshly blooming leaves. He glared harder and mumbled a frustrated, “Whatever,” as an end to their conversation.

For several more minutes, Arthur was quiet, allowing the weight of silence to blanket them once more. Alfred let his agitation burn beneath his skin. It was an effervescing kind of frustration that sealed his lips and made him want to run away from Arthur to avoid his dismissal and cover his ears to avoid the heavy silence between them. If that was all, Alfred could’ve easily stayed upset, but there was an ache that accompanied the frustration. Almost like something was missing. They had been so close in the palace… and then they got into the carriage.

Maybe Arthur was more afraid of the Ball than Alfred was and the worry was manifesting itself into a barrier over his expression and charming attitude. Alfred mused that Arthur was probably worried that his King would make a fool of himself. Gnashing his teeth together, Alfred fought the urge to say, _maybe you should just leave me in the palace so I don’t screw up!_

But Arthur would think that was immature… wouldn’t he? Alfred’s eyes went wide. What if Arthur secretly _didn’t want_ him to go?

Swallowing thickly, Alfred nervously called, “Arthur? Do you –”

Before Alfred could finish his statement, he felt Arthur drop his head on his shoulder. Turning his gaze to the right, he saw Arthur’s beautiful, crownless head resting on his shoulder as if it belonged there. Glancing down at his hand that was still clasped in Arthur’s, he saw Arthur’s crown perched atop Arthur’s thigh, next to Alfred’s hand. Not daring to say anything, Alfred bit his lower lip and held still while Arthur’s cheek rubbed against the soft fabric of his coat.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” Arthur murmured against his shoulder while Alfred raised an eyebrow. He really didn’t sound sorry. “Were you saying something?”

Making a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, Alfred glanced at his window again while Arthur sighed. It was nice to have Arthur close to him. It soothed his frayed nerves and made some of the frustration wash away, but it didn’t erase the lingering fear that Arthur was worried about Alfred and the Ball. Biting his lip once more, Alfred took a deep breath and turned back to Arthur, letting out his question in a rushed breath.

“Are you embarrassed? Of me, I mean. Is that why you’re quiet?”

Arthur didn’t lift his head as he sighed again. “Oh, Alfred… I’m not embarrassed of you. I’m merely… for lack of better word, _dreading_ going to the Ball of Hearts with you. Or any Ball for that matter.”

Alfred felt it. A kick straight to his gut as Arthur said those words. It made his heart clench and his stomach heave in the worst way. Arthur didn’t want him to go… well, anywhere outside of Spades, it seemed. Was it his manners? The way he looked or spoke? What had he done to disrupt whatever peace had fallen over the two of them and earn a horrible reputation in Arthur’s eyes?

Abruptly, Arthur sat up straight, his hand coming up to cover his lips. “I just realized how perfectly horrible that sounded,” he whispered breathlessly. Turning to Alfred, he took his husband’s chin and turned his face so that their eyes could meet. “Alfred, my dear boy, I didn’t mean to say that I don’t want _you_ there, I just…” Alfred watched in fascination as Arthur’s emerald irises darted back and forth, trying to look at his own eyes while searching for words. “Oh, Alfred. I simply mean that there are certain people you’ll meet that you ought not to… Things will be said that you really shouldn’t hear.”

This soothed some of Alfred’s frustration, but it didn’t do anything to stave off his curiosity. What didn’t Arthur want him to hear? Something bad about Spades, or… Something bad about Arthur himself? And now there were people Arthur didn’t want him to meet. Did he mean Francis? He _had_ been pretty adamant about not liking the King of Diamonds. Then again, Arthur may have just been trying to cover his tracks; he could really _not_ want Alfred to come to the Ball. But Arthur’s expression was desperate and regretful, and Alfred was hopelessly trusting when it came to his husband. So with tight lips, Alfred smiled while Arthur’s gloved palm held his face steady.

“I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it,” Alfred lied through his teeth. The carriage shook, rattling the inhabitants and dislodging Arthur’s hand from Alfred’s chin. Arthur lost his balance and fell forward into Alfred with a surprised “Oh!” Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and held him there, safe and secure while Arthur’s gloved fingers clutched at his shoulders. “I just hope that... I hope that this Ball goes well.”

Arthur didn’t push away from Alfred’s arms as he muttered a less than exuberant, “So do I, Alfred. So do I.”

+++++

                “It’s big,” Alfred breathed as he looked up. Next to him, Arthur nodded solemnly and reached up to Alfred’s shoulder to pull at a wrinkle in his coat.

                “That’s very true, Alfred.”

                Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Alfred titled his head back to view the sheer enormity of the castle in front of him. The Kingdom of Hearts was extravagant, to say the least. The palace in Spades was colossal and magnificent, but it was more welcoming to the people of Spades with open fences and gates that rarely closed. However, the Kingdom of Hearts had a palace that was almost a perfect image of a fortress.

                Formidable, stone walls stared back at Alfred as he watched the castle, and in the blush of the setting sun, the glowing light from the palace windows were stained a welcoming orange. Banners of red and black hung over the grand archway over the doors and symbols of hearts and thorns.

                “It’s just so _big_ ,” Alfred repeated while Arthur chuckled under his breath. “There’s so much room. They never use all of it… do they?”

                Arthur’s hands smoothed down Alfred’s biceps before Arthur took a step back and regarded the palace with a disinterested eye. “I’m afraid I don’t know the inner workings of Hearts, Alfred. But I’ve no doubt that if you ask Kiku, he’ll be highly amused by the question.”

                Alfred smiled at the thought. Kiku sounded like a good person. If they could laugh, then Alfred would be fine. He loved joking around. But, there would be several other people in the palace as well. Dozens, probably. Or, with the size of the palace in mind, maybe even hundreds. Alfred felt his stomach clench as his blood pressure began to rise. Arthur’s steady hand on his upper arm held him to reality as anxiety threatened to get the best of him.

                “Don’t be scared, Alfred,” Arthur murmured as he looked forward at the large wooden doors of the castle. “I’ll be here with you. And on the odd chance you may need to get away from the crowds, I will gladly spirit you away to the gardens.”

                “Gardens. Just like our palace. But different.” Alfred laughed uneasily, only feeling worse when the sound was shrill and caught in the back of his throat. “Can I just hide there all night?”

                The hand on Alfred’s arm held onto him a bit tighter. “Oh, dearest Alfred… where did all of your excitement go? I recall a time when you asked to dance with me rather than Gerard. Now you decline the idea of dancing at all?”

                “Well, that... just…” Alfred’s eyes went wide as he looked down at Arthur, who held onto his arm as if his life depended on it. “Did you just call me ‘dearest?’”

                Arthur didn’t look away from the doors of the palace, but Alfred watched with amazement as his cheeks flared a flattering shade of pink. “Did I?” He asked quietly as he pulled Alfred forward a few steps. “We don’t have time to sit and dally, Alfred. I’ve given you three minutes to stand outside the palace and admire it, now we simply must go inside.”

                As they approached the mighty bastion of Hearts, Alfred felt Arthur pat his arm in a comforting manner. Two guards stood in front of the door with large spears in hand. Their stern expressions looked almost as foreboding as the palace itself. When Arthur leaned into him, Alfred ducked his head down just enough to feel the Queen’s lips brush the shell of his ear.

                “I fear I’ve failed to warn you. Keep a wary eye on the crowds tonight, Alfred,” he murmured in a way that had Alfred’s cheeks burning. “I’d rather not have you caught up in the amorous magic of Hearts.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide as his anxiety rose up in his chest again. “The… what magic?”

                Arthur smiled and waved a hand at the guards and the doors were pulled open, immediately letting a flurry of sounds out of the palace and into Alfred’s ears. Stringed instruments were being played by some kind of orchestra, and the underlying murmur of hundreds – or thousands – of people buzzed in the air. Golden light from many grand, crystal chandeliers stained the night air a pleasant, idyllic color.

                A large staircase lead from the large doorway down and into a large ballroom. Said ballroom was filled with an array of gossamer gowns and royal robes, none of which stayed still for long. The special guests at the ball roved around the room casually, talking and laughing loudly as Alfred and Arthur slowly descended the staircase and into the crowds.

                Alfred hadn’t noticed that his mouth was hanging open until Arthur reached a gloved hand over to push his chin up. Giving his husband a bashful smile, Alfred tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever people and conversations would be waiting for him. He was a new King, so he couldn’t be expected to remember anyone… at least, not yet. Arthur smiled in return and proceeded to walk forward with Alfred through the archway over the doors and into the palace.

                “Wow. That’s…” Alfred took a deep breath as he looked at the immense amount of people waiting for them inside the palace. “That’s a lot of people.”

Alfred raised his chin and met every stare that was thrown his way. He felt brave when some of the stares he met lowered their eyes guiltily, yet his heart still pounded anxiously. Unwinding his arm from Arthur’s, he opted to hold Arthur’s hand and squeeze it as hard as he could. How were all of these people here before them? Arthur was all about punctuality, so it seemed strange to have all of the other guests arrive before they did.

“Alfred, please. My fingers are going numb.”

“What?” Alfred turned away from the crowds to see Arthur making a rather uncomfortable face while he tried to pull his hand free from Alfred’s. Quickly releasing his grip, Alfred tried to ignore the burn in his cheeks and the slight escalation of whispering in the crowds. “Oh. Oh! Sorry, I was just –”

“Nervous? I can tell from the line of your shoulders.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “My shoulders?”

Flexing his fingers experimentally, Arthur smiled and gave Alfred a sharp look through his thick, fair eyelashes. “Yes. You’ve been standing up straight with your shoulders back ever since we arrived. Very good, Alfred.”

Rolling his shoulders back, Alfred flashed his best smile down at Arthur. “I _am_ pretty great, aren’t I?”

Looping his arm back through Alfred’s, Arthur nodded in approval. “Very. Come now, let us show the entire room how wonderful you are.”

Alfred felt his grin grow cocky as he wandered past several groups of giggling girls with Arthur on his arm. “I’m like a prized show pony.”

“You’re a bit big to be a pony, Alfred,” Arthur noted calmly.

“Right. A prized stallion, then.”

Arthur gasped out a breathless laugh before he covered his mouth. Many people turned to regard the Englishman as he giddily whispered, “ _Stallion_.”

Alfred admired the flush that stained Arthur’s normally porcelain cheeks and the embarrassed smile that was normally a disapproving line. On the far right side of the room, the orchestra finished their light, airy song, and began something slower and softer?

“You think that’s funny?” Alfred asked while people around them smiled and leaned into one another, whispering behind dainty, gloved hands.

Arthur fluttered his hand in front of his lips, almost as if he was trying to swat away the whispers of the people around them. “I’m… yes, I suppose that in a way, it was quite amusing.”

Feeling his anxiety melting away with every step, Alfred kept his gate slow and nonchalant. He wasn’t in any hurry to go dancing. The longer he could avoid dancing, the better. That meant he was roped into listening to Arthur’s snippets of information regarding the people around them.

“There is Count Laurinaitis of Clubs,” Arthur murmured with a smile as he pointed out a young man standing near the orchestra. His brown hair was tied up with a ribbon of some sort, but Alfred was more interested in the coat that he wore. The pattern of clubs seemed to be sewn along every edge of it. The Card Kingdoms were extremely patriotic, it seemed. Arthur lowered his hand and placed it back on Alfred’s bicep. Arthur’s hand belonged there, where it made Alfred feel special and safe. “Toris Laurinaitis is responsible for many different things in Clubs, most of which include monitoring the imports and exports of the kingdom.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at the blonde that stood next to Count Toris, not quite catching a real glimpse at their face. They had their back to Alfred and Arthur, and seemed to be having an interesting conversation with the Count. Trying to nonchalantly crane his neck to see the rest of the person next to Toris, Alfred only caught a quick glance of their silver gown.

Leaning his head down a bit, Alfred touched the side of his head to Arthur’s as he whispered, “Who is that girl next to him?”

“The _person_ next to him happens to be his fiancé, Feliks. Feliks doesn’t prefer to be called a man or a woman.”

Alfred felt his eyebrows draw together in frustration as a woman stepped into his line of sight and made it almost impossible to see the Count and his fiancé without standing on the tips of his toes.

“Okay, sure. Whatever makes them comfortable. Toris and Feliks… they make a cute couple.” Alfred caught a glimpse of Feliks brushing pale, gold hair from their eyes as they giggled. Toris leaned close and whispered something to them and made Feliks laugh harder. Alfred smiled. “So… are they from Clubs, too?”

Arthur’s fingers pulled at the lacy, white bow around his neck before nodding. “Yes. Feliks organizes imports and exports whereas Toris works as a diplomat that meets with foreign officials and royalty.” Arthur pointed off at the head of the room quickly. “There, Alfred. Do you see them? Kiku and Ludwig.”

Following Arthur’s hand, Alfred found himself looking at the sharpest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. The man watching him made Alfred flinch just a bit, but the stranger showed no recognition of Alfred’s discomfort.  Alfred thought the man might be tall enough to reach up and touch the heavens. Mountains could easily rest atop his broad shoulders. Certainly, the blond man at the head of the room looked almost frightening in repose. And, out of everyone in the ballroom, he just happened to be glaring at Alfred. That wasn’t fair. What did he do?

“He’s staring at me,” Alfred whined under his breath as he continued to gaze at the blond man across the room. Judgmental, blue eyes narrowed at Alfred and the only comfort Alfred could find was a pat from Arthur’s hand to his arm.

“Stubborn as a bull, that man… Ludwig is just observing you, Alfred. Don’t let his glare fool you, though; he’s honestly one of the kindest men I know.”

Alfred fought the smile that threatened to ruin his stare with Ludwig. “Aside from me, of course. I’m the best, right?”

Arthur sighed and patted his arm once more. “Yes, Alfred. Aside from you. You are the epitome of kindness, my King.”

Alfred didn’t look away from Ludwig until the other man was distracted by someone else, and he turned his judging stare on them. Arthur leaned into Alfred’s arm as he pointed out Ludwig’s new staring partner.

“See there, next to him? That is Kiku, the Queen of Hearts.”

Even though he was at least two feet shorter than Ludwig, the Queen of Hearts stood with a regal air that quickly drew and held onto Alfred’s attention. Alfred let his eyes admire the Queen while Arthur smiled and greeted two girls as they walked past them, arm in arm.

Kiku’s glossy black hair was cut short, most likely for neatness, but it framed his face in a flattering way no matter what angle he turned his head. He had a subtle smile on his lips as a young woman spoke to him, waving one of her delicate hands to and fro as she told him a story. One of Kiku’s thin arms was tucked into Ludwig’s, and Alfred’s eyes went wide at the sight of Kiku’s sleeves. They almost reached the ground. Could he trip on them? He was wearing some elegant looking robes… was he going to dance in them? If he somehow tripped over his sleeves or robes on the dancefloor, what –

“Alfred,” Arthur murmured lowly, causing Alfred to blink and snap himself out of his thoughts. “See that woman speaking to Kiku?”

Alfred waited for someone to move out of the way until he could see young woman smiling as Kiku took one of her hands and said something to her. The blushing color of her dressed matched the color of the pale, pink flowers in her dark hair.

“Yes?” Alfred nodded and smiled when Arthur pulled at the bow around his neck again.

“That is Kiku’s only sister, Mei. Although Kiku moved from the Outlands to live in Hearts after he received his card, Mei remained in their homeland and became one of the greatest ambassadors to the Card Kingdoms I’ve ever seen.” Arthur nodded to himself. “Very bright girl. Sharp as a tack.”

“Sharp as a tack,” Alfred repeated with a smile. She certainly looked like she was capable of great things. She held herself with the air of a noblity and her smile was something fierce. “I can see it.”

Arthur hummed. “Perhaps sharp enough to ensnare a wayward King?”

Quickly rerouting his gaze to Arthur’s blank expression, Alfred narrowed his eyes. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”

“Take what you will from my words, Alfred,” Arthur said innocently, not taking his eyes off of Mei as he spoke.

“Such a cryptic, Arthur,” a woman’s disapproving tone rang clear through the constant murmurs of the people around them, causing Alfred and Arthur to turn to their right in search of the source. She had green eyes – not nearly as beautiful as Arthur’s, Alfred liked to think – but her eyes were softer in some way. And those green eyes reflected her sweet smile as she winked at Arthur. “A lovely man should say lovely things, no?”

“You would know about all lovely things, my girl,” Arthur breathed happily as he released his hold on Alfred’s arm to wrap the woman in a tight hug. “It’s been too long, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth sighed against Arthur’s shoulder, and Alfred felt a prick of jealousy when she gleefully returned the embrace.

“Yes,” she nodded with a smile as she stood back from Arthur and passed a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding his crown. “Far too long.”

Alfred squinted at Elizabeth, trying to narrow down exactly where he had heard her accent. Arthur had a British accent, but this woman… her vowels seemed to be off in some way, and her consonants almost seemed as if they were flattened beneath the smooth, caramel sound of her voice. German? Russian? Alfred didn’t have much time to contemplate on his own as Elizabeth’s soft eyes turned to him and traveled down his body at a slow pace that almost made him uncomfortable. Before he could squirm under her gaze, her eyes snapped back up to catch his gaze once more.

“And now you…” Elizabeth smiled wryly as she leaned back into Arthur and whispered something in his ear that made his cheeks burn a furious scarlet. Alfred felt his eye twitch involuntarily. He felt so… _on edge_ when Elizabeth was crowding Arthur’s space. He didn’t like it. Elizabeth leaned back once more to reach a hand up to straighten her tiara. “I won’t push that, but I will say that he certainly _looks_ like the King of Spades. Very nice.”

As if Alfred needed _her_ approval. Alfred forced a smile and gave Elizabeth a slight bow. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Elizabeth giggled and put a hand over her heart. “Heavens, Arthur. You have taught him well.” Arthur nodded slowly before Elizabeth pressed her hand to his shoulder. “And he doesn’t need much dressing up, does he? He’s quite handsome all on his own, too.”

“Oh, I…” Arthur’s already flustered appearance worsened as he fluttered his flingers over his lips. “I wouldn’t say… b-but of course he is, he’s… very…” Arthur didn’t finish as Elizabeth laughed and shook her head.

Very what? Alfred wanted to know. He wanted to know everything that Arthur thought of him. If he really was handsome, if he was sweet, if he was funny… or if he was someone worth falling in love with. Elizabeth cut off those thoughts with a pat to Arthur’s arm – she shouldn’t be touching him, Alfred decided bitterly – and a wave of her hand.

“Let’s not mind that, now. You have your new King. And just in time to show him off at the Ball of Love! How precious.”

“Elizabeth,” Arthur hissed as he shrunk away from her and into Alfred’s waiting arms. Alfred happily put an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and held him there, against his side. Right where he belonged. “It seems that with you, manners have no meaning.” With an indication of his right hand, Arthur introduced Elizabeth in an uneven tone. “Alfred, this is Elizabeth, the Queen of Clubs.”

Elizabeth had made Arthur uncomfortable. Elizabeth had whispered in his ear. Elizabeth was all over the man he was madly in love with… and Arthur never made her back off. It made Alfred’s stomach twist. Were people like this with Arthur often? Or was it just Elizabeth that got to touch him and whisper in his ear? Alfred felt a sharp pressure on his foot as Arthur stepped on it.

“Ow,” he growled down at his husband while Arthur continued to look forward at Elizabeth. Pulling his mouth up into the least angry smile he could muster, Alfred turned his attention back to the Queen of Clubs. Elizabeth returned the smile with her own sly grin. “My apologies, I seemed to be lost in my own thoughts.”

“Quite alright,” Elizabeth hummed. “I remember being overwhelmed at my first Ball.”

He wasn’t overwhelmed by the people in the ballroom. He was just worried about how attractive everyone seemed to be _._ Arthur had so many beautiful people around him every day, from Yao’s suave looks to the palace’s head chef, Rosaline, and her own spunky splendor. Now there was Elizabeth and her own brand of loveliness to be added to the pile.

With her curvaceous physique and chocolate brown hair that fell over her shoulders in pleasant waves, she was a perfect example of beauty. Alfred had always appreciated the female body, but after he met Arthur, he just wasn’t interested in anyone else. Arthur was supposedly meant to feel the same per the Bond of Ages, but there was still an simmering worry that Arthur still had eyes for someone else.

Alfred flexed the arm around Arthur’s shoulders and felt a bit better when Arthur easily leaned back against his side. Just where Alfred wanted him. Safe in his arms. Blinking slowly, Alfred tried to focus on the scene in front of him, only to feel that he didn’t really care about whatever Elizabeth had to say. He simply sat back and watched her lips form words while she spoke to Arthur, not listening to the conversation.

He wanted to be alone with Arthur. In the garden or in his bedroom, it didn’t matter. He wanted to talk to him and tell him… well, everything. It was hard not to tell Arthur that he was in love with him, but there was a right time and a right place to confess one’s love… wasn’t there? He had almost said it before the Ball, but it didn’t seem right. Now he was caught between Elizabeth and a hard place. To confess or not to confess, that was the real dilemma of the evening.

“Alfred, are you listening?” Alfred blinked to see Arthur looking at him over his shoulder with a pinched expression.

Before Alfred could open his mouth and say that he was, Elizabeth sighed in a fond manner. “Oh, let the boy daydream. He’s in Hearts, after all… let his heart show him things his eyes cannot.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes. What did that mean? He tightened his grip on Arthur’s shoulder enough to hear Arthur give a low noise of protest.

“Excuse me?” Alfred asked the Queen of Clubs with a pointed stare. Elizabeth smiled a perfect smile, all soft lips and straight teeth. Her hand came up to brush a piece of curly, brown hair from her eyes while Alfred waited for an explanation, but she never gave one. Leaning forward just a bit, Alfred loosened his hold on Arthur so the man wouldn’t stumble. “I don’t understand.”

Arthur shrugged Alfred arm away only to turn around to stand face to face with Alfred. His white gloved hands braced themselves against Alfred’s chest, as if to push him back and away from Elizabeth. “Alfred,” he hummed in a low tone that made Alfred’s throat constrict with frustration. Alfred felt the urge to scream or cry. Arthur raised an eyebrow and kept his hands on Alfred’s chest while he spoke over his shoulder to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry, my dear. He’s not normally like this. I’m sure it’s the masses making him uneasy. It’s nothing you did.”

                Elizabeth nodded but the agreement didn’t match the curious sparkle in her eyes. Those green eyes set Alfred’s heart on fire, as if she was trying to burn him with her perfection. Her sweet words and caring smile… Arthur was sure to like her more than Alfred. It was obvious in the way that Arthur defended her. Alfred huffed and shook his head.

                “It _is_ what she did –”

                “Hush,” Arthur hummed before he gave Elizabeth one last smile. “Excuse us, please.”

His fingers were tight around Alfred’s arm as he pulled him away from Elizabeth and along the wall of the ballroom. Like talons, Arthur’s fingernails bit down through the fabric of his gloves and Alfred’s coat, holding him tight like an animal dragging its prey back to its nest to rip it apart and devour it. Alfred allowed himself to be towed along the room quietly. Knowing Arthur, he was taking Alfred somewhere where he could be scolded without anyone watching them.

Right on cue, Arthur stepped out of the ballroom and into the warm, mid-spring evening. From the front of the palace, Alfred hadn’t seen anything past the impenetrable walls. There had only been the dark and gloomy stone walls, yet behind the imposing walls lay a paradise. Alfred stopped to appreciate the garden filled with roses happily blooming under a star-speckled sky and the chorus of chirping crickets that could barely be heard under the orchestra that continued to play in the ballroom.

When Arthur released his arm, Alfred stood still and waited for the barbed barrage of Arthur’s words. He braced himself for a possible smack upside the head or a possible punch to the arm. Alfred was acting stupid. He had probably insulted Elizabeth, one of the Card Kingdom queens. That wasn’t smart, considering they were supposed to be allies. Biting his lower lip, Alfred took a deep breath and closed his eyes as Arthur spun on his heel to face him. Whatever angry face Arthur was making, Alfred didn’t want to see.

It was quiet. Save for the sweet, soothing sounds coming from the orchestra, the little haven they stood in remained hushed. No yelling obscenities filled the air and no murmured disappointment made Alfred’s skin crawl. Where was the anger? Where were Arthur’s flabbergasted words? It was far too quiet for what had just transpired in the Palace of Hearts.

Before he had a chance to crack open an eye to see if Arthur was glaring at him, Alfred felt the soft, smooth fabric of Arthur’s gloves sliding across his cheeks. They held his face, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. After he had acted so immaturely in front of Elizabeth, Arthur was still regarding him as a good person. Ducking his chin a bit, Alfred allowed Arthur to cup his face as he continued to hide behind closed eyes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in Arthur’s beautiful eyes.

“What is it?” Arthur whispered in a tone that was dripping in hurt emotions. Alfred closed his eyes tighter and didn’t respond. “What have I done to make you act this way?”

Alfred sighed while the tips of Arthur’s fingers pushed against his cheeks. “Nothing,” he muttered softly, keeping his eyes closed.  He heard Arthur exhale heavily. “You didn’t do anything.”

“You were nervous,” Arthur stated evenly as his thumbs swept back and forth across the ridges of Alfred’s cheekbones. “And hesitant to step into the palace. But… but all was well. You were smiling.” Arthur paused again, and Alfred slowly opened his eyes to see his husband’s angelic face dragged down by confusion. “And then… Elizabeth?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just… dumb.” Alfred shook his head and dislodged Arthur’s hands from his face while he turned away.

He didn’t want to see that sad look on Arthur’s face. Arthur had never given any indication that he was being unfaithful, so why did Alfred feel so cheated because of Elizabeth? Pursing his lips, Alfred pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked back at the doorway that led to the ballroom.

“I’m being dumb,” Alfred repeated crossly as he looked back at Arthur’s downtrodden expression. “Let’s just go back.”

Arthur stepped forward and caught Alfred’s hand, pulling him away from the large doorway and back toward the countless rows of rose bushes. “Talk to me, Alfred,” he pleaded softly as he pulled Alfred away from the Ball of Hearts and closer to himself. “Please speak to me. Tell me what went wrong. How can I comfort you?”

Alfred shrugged and pulled his hand away from Arthur’s, trying to get rid of his paranoid frustration. He knew that he loved Arthur and loving someone meant putting their happiness before his own. To keep Arthur happy, he had to behave and act like a King at the Ball.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Alfred sighed while Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I just… I don’t know. Come on, let’s go dance or something.”

“No,” Arthur said abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest. He almost looked like a petulant child, but of course, Alfred could only see the gesture as a challenge.

Taking a step back from his husband, Alfred raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“I do not want to dance with you if you insist on being like this.”

Alfred snorted and Arthur’s nose wrinkled at the sound. “Being like what?”

“You were genuinely bothered by _something_ , Alfred.” Arthur stepped forward and placed a hand on Alfred’s cheek again. “I want you to enjoy this night, not sit and stew on the sidelines of the ballroom.”

Alfred huffed but leaned into the palm that held his face. “She just–” Alfred shut his eyes tight and let his poor excuse fall from his lips. “Elizabeth was all over you. She was, ya’ know, touching you. And whispering to you.”

At that, Arthur laughed. He didn’t remove his hand from Alfred’s cheek. In fact, he leaned forward against Alfred’s chest. The laughter was another cause for frustration, but Alfred found his anxiety soothed by the close proximity.

“People will speak to me, Alfred. And truth be told, Elizabeth isn’t the first person who has embraced me.”

Alfred frowned and muttered out a stubborn, “That’s not fair,” before his eyes went wide. Why had he said that? It made him sound like a jealous prick. Well, he was definitely jealous… but did that bother Arthur?

Arthur lifted his gaze to catch Alfred’s as his gloved hand slid down from Alfred’s cheek to rest comfortably on his chest. “Not fair?” He asked suspiciously through thin lips.

Alfred leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, holding him close. It was the first time he’d actually had the courage to really hug Arthur. Holding him steady in the carriage really didn’t seem to count… But there, in the little paradise of Hearts, with soft, melodic music in the air, Alfred couldn’t see the moment as anything less than perfect for holding the man he loved. After stiffening for just a moment, Arthur melted happily in his arms, slipping his own trapped hands away from Alfred’s chest to wrap around his back.

“Alfred,” Arthur said, his voice coming out muffled and hot through the fabric on Alfred’s shoulder. “You were jealous of Elizabeth for being able to hug me?”

Alfred inhaled through his nose and found  reveled in the scent of lilacs. It was so peaceful to be in Arthur’s arms. All of the jumbled nonsense of fate and the Bond of Ages was making itself known again, proving that he was truly meant to love Arthur Kirkland and be with him. Closing his eyes, Alfred pressed his nose against the skin between Arthur’s neck and his shoulder.

“She’s too pretty.”

“I do believe you have an ugly jealous streak, my dear,” Arthur hummed softly as his hands gripped the back of Alfred’s coat. Was he expressing discomfort or trying to bring him closer? Alfred couldn’t quite tell. “And, for the record, Elizabeth is a fine, young woman, but I have known her since she was twelve-years-old. I think of her as a younger sister.”

Alfred frowned. “Do you think of everyone as a brother or sister?”

Arthur released his grip on Alfred’s shoulders and began to push his husband away. Time to let go then. Alfred unfolded his arms from around Arthur’s shoulders and stood back while Arthur gave him a long, hard look.

“Why would you ask me something like that?”

“I just…” Alfred looked down at Arthur’s lips, – soft? Sweet? – parted around every quiet breath. Alfred found himself captured by the perfection of the moment before he lifted his gaze back up to Arthur’s eyes. “There are so many other people out there. All of them are…” A glance down at Arthur’s lips. “Perfect, and… you can’t have known all of them since they were little, and you…” Arthur’s hands came up to cup Alfred’s cheeks again. Alfred’s glasses were slipping down his nose. He didn’t fix them. “You probably look at all of those people like... well,”

“Like what? Like they are the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen?” Arthur asked quietly as he stepped forward, impossibly close to Alfred. So close, Alfred could feel Arthur’s heartbeat, heavy and warm through the fabric of their coats. A fast heartbeat, like he was afraid… or excited. “I hardly think so, Alfred. I haven’t seen anyone truly beautiful aside from…” Arthur’s lips stilled as he froze midsentence, looking away from Alfred’s eyes to stare blankly at his chest.

Alfred’s eyes went wide. What did Arthur think was beautiful? _Who_ did Arthur think was beautiful? These were the only questions worth asking at the moment.

“Aside from whom?” Alfred brought his hands up to grasp at Arthur’s shoulders and pull him close. “Aside from _whom,_ Arthur?”

Arthur didn’t answer. His eyes merely flickered back up to Alfred’s, his green irises glowing with heated emotions that Alfred was too scared to name. His hands on Alfred’s face moved. Not pushing Alfred away, but pulling him down. Before Alfred could process it, Arthur’s lips were pressed against his.

The constant murmur of strange voices in the ballroom were erased and the stringed lullaby being played by the orchestra was scrubbed away to allow Alfred to listen to the sound of his own heartbeat, loud and clear in his own ears. He was finally kissing Arthur. Or rather, the Queen was thoroughly kissing him while his eyes went wide in surprise.

Arthur’s lips were soft and warm against his own, pressing forward and easily taking control while Alfred fumbled for something to hold onto. Where did hands go at a time like this? Arthur’s hands were on his cheeks, but he couldn’t reciprocate that gesture; his hands would only get in the way. He grasped at Arthur’s shoulders, then his sides, and then finally his waist, -- the perfect leverage point – pulling the smaller man up and forward, almost shifting all of Arthur’s weight on top of himself. Arthur gasped against his lips at the movement, and Alfred couldn’t help but smile against the oncoming kiss. He must be doing _something_ right.

His hands stayed on Arthur’s hips while the Queen took a deep breath and caught Alfred’s lips again. He had imagined kissing Arthur like this time and time again when he was alone, but now, with Arthur caught in his arms and their lips pressed together in a shaking, excited manner, Alfred decided that reality was everything he had wanted and more.

His bottom lip was caught between Arthur’s teeth just gently enough to be exciting, and every breath Arthur’s took was echoed by his own lungs. When Arthur turned his head just so, their teeth clicked together awkwardly and Alfred made a garbled noise. The accident was quickly rectified when they moved for each other once more, their smiles much too apparent to warrant proper kissing.

It was a feverish, reckless display. If someone had stepped outside at that moment, Spades would never live it down… and Alfred couldn’t care less. How could he care about anything besides the way Arthur felt in his arms? Social protocol be damned, Alfred didn’t want to let go anytime soon.

Judging the way Arthur’s hands trembled when they slid back from his cheeks to card through his hair, Alfred could guess that Arthur felt the same. The tugging sensation at the roots of his hair was almost demanding, but Alfred didn’t know what else he could give. He quickly kissed Arthur again, desperate to please, only to feel his hair tugged on once more.

“Gently, Alfred. Please,” Arthur chuckled against his parted lips. Opening his eyes, Alfred saw Arthur’s rosy cheeks highlighted by a perfect smile.

“What?” Alfred blinked slowly as he reached a hand up to straighten his glasses. Arthur had knocked them askew somewhere during the process of kissing. Arthur smiled at the action. “Sorry, I’m just… I want to... sorry, I just got caught up in it.”

Alfred ducked his head to kiss Arthur again, but was stopped by Arthur’s restraining hands on the sides of his face. “Oh, dear. Here I was,” Arthur breathed against his lips, “Warning you about the magic of Hearts… and yet, I am the one who wholeheartedly succumbs to it.”

Magic? Alfred lurched back and away from his husband. Arthur… was he doing and saying these things because of magic? The hugging, the kissing, the smile on his lips… was all of it… just some sort of magic-induced farce?

“Magic?” Alfred asked while Arthur’s eyelids fluttered rapidly.

The kiss… wasn’t real. The way Arthur smiled at him, the way Arthur inferred he was beautiful… nothing about it was real. Alfred touched his glove-clad fingers to his lips; Arthur probably didn’t really want to kiss him at all. It was the magic’s fault. Alfred felt a twinge in his chest as he thought about it further. The magic had made Arthur act out of character… like a drug. Alfred had kissed a drugged person. That wasn’t right. Nothing about Arthur being drugged was right.

Looking back up at Arthur, Alfred found his voice coming out in a soft whisper. “This was all because of magic?”

“Alfred, my darling… my dear, dear boy.” Arthur stepped forward to place his hands on Alfred’s shoulders. The terms of endearment felt strange now. Fake and undeserved. Even the hands on his shoulders didn’t fit quite right. “Nothing I’ve said is untrue. There is merely magic in the air, just as it is in Spades.” Arthur nodded to himself while Alfred frowned. It didn’t make sense to him. Arthur continued with a flippant wave of his hand, “Spades magic brings out our natural born strengths, where Hearts…” Arthur’s hands slid down the front of Alfred’s chest. “Hearts accentuates the loving emotions that already exist.”

Alfred grabbed Arthur’s hands before they could sink any lower. “Loving emotions?”

“Yes,” Arthur said slowly as he stared up at his King. “Loving. I’m afraid… I’m very sorry, Alfred, but it seems I’ve fallen in love with you.” Arthur’s eyes went wide and he took one of his hands away to cover his lips. “Oh, my…” Arthur smiled into his hand. “Well, that does feel nice. Saying it aloud to you, I mean to say. Yes, much better.”

Alfred blinked hard, closing his eyes for a good three seconds before opening them again. Arthur was still there. His right hand was still caught in Alfred’s and his left still covered his lips. He had said something insane. Arthur wouldn’t say anything like that. It was a joke, or… a dream. In love? With Alfred? It was almost laughable… almost.

“What?” Alfred asked as Arthur continued to smile. Alfred felt a lump form in his throat at the thought of Arthur truly returning his feelings. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that right. What?”

“I’m so sorry, Alfred. I’m in love with you, and… heavens, you haven’t even gotten to live your life yet.” Arthur shook his head and quickly stepped away. “This shouldn’t be… I can’t… Oh, Alfred. I wish I didn’t love you. Love from someone as troubled as me is simply a burden.”

Alfred blinked owlishly. What was he talking about? Arthur fluttered his hands in the air as he walked towards one of the rose bushes.

“You are so young… so young! Now you are experiencing feelings of petty jealousy towards lovely women, but… but my jealously and possessiveness border on the extreme! Darling Alfred, please,” Arthur turned on his heel and gave Alfred a sharp look. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

Alfred squinted. How had they gotten to this point? Arthur’s thought process was too complex to follow.

“Why would I tell you that?”

Arthur scoffed, all breathy and frustrated. “Why? I’ll tell you why.” Arthur pulled a rose from the bush with one quick jerk of his arm and Alfred winced at the sound of thorns snagging Arthur’s coat sleeve. “On the outside, I may seem like a well-enough partner… like this rose.” Arthur gestured to the rose in his hand, still in bloom. “But in truth, there are troubled memories and unsatisfactory traits in my personality, just like these thorns,” Arthur’s shaking hands began to pull at the wavy rose petals, showering the garden path in scarlet. “If… if I love you, Alfred… I fear that you’ll only be hurt.”

Alfred quirked at eyebrow at the sight of the mangled flower. He couldn’t think of anything besides, _What was Kiku going to say when he saw the ruined flower in his garden?_

Arthur dropped the remains of the rose on the stone pathway and walked back to stand in front of Alfred. “Do you understand?”

Opening his mouth to say something, Alfred realized that he had only a faint idea of what Arthur was saying. It all came back in a circle. He was jealous of Elizabeth’s beauty. So that was the rose… or maybe the thorns? Arthur had taken him aside and kissed him. Well, that was beautiful in Alfred’s mind, considering the magic of Hearts wasn’t technically a drug. So… was that the rose? And then there was Arthur’s confession. Maybe that was when the flower was torn. But wait. Love was supposed to be a beautiful thing. Or was it?

“Son of a… I dunno,” Alfred brought a hand up to cover his eyes. This entire interaction had yet to make sense and he was developing a migraine. “You’re a flower? Am I tearing you up?”

“You… simple, simple boy. Look at me,” Arthur ordered crisply. Alfred smiled and lowered his hand. There was the Arthur he knew and loved. “Now hear what I say. Listen _carefully_.”

“Got it. Listening.” Alfred nodded.

“I love you.” Arthur took a breath. “And I really, really shouldn’t.” Alfred frowned, and Arthur was quick to continue. “I let myself succumb to the influence of Hearts, which I apologize for, but, in all honesty, you didn’t seem too keen on wanting me to stop.” Alfred continued to frown as Arthur laced his hands together and looked down at his fingers guiltily. “I understand now, because of the exchange with Elizabeth, that you must have some sort of… high regard for me, as it were, but I think that it would be best if you didn’t love me.”

                Alfred ran the tip of his tongue over the front of his teeth. Not loving Arthur… well, that wasn’t really an option. He was in love, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t just turn off his emotions.

                “I hate to say it,” Alfred shrugged as Arthur lifted his gaze. “But, I don’t think I can just _not_ love you.”

                Arthur took a step forward. “There is a side of me that you don’t know about, Alfred. My past is nothing to be trifled with. I have more painful memories than anyone else in Spades combined,” he took a breath and shook his head quickly enough to tilt his crown at an odd angle. “I’m selfish and cowardly. And when it comes to you, Alfred… I will never want to share. I am the worst type of man to love, I –”

                Alfred held up a hand to stop Arthur in his tracks. If Arthur could say it, so could he. “It’s too late. I love you, Arthur. I fell in love with you, like… forever ago.”

                Arthur took another step. “But –”

                “Nope, that’s just how it is. I’m in love with you, and you can’t stop me.” Alfred shrugged again while Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, I already love you, so if I discover a new side of you, won’t I just fall in love with that part of you, too?”

                There was a brief moment of silence before Arthur cracked a smile and gave Alfred a painfully melancholic look. “I don’t believe it’s that simple, Alfred.”

                “I don’t know,” Alfred admitted as he gathered Arthur up in his arms again. “I’ve never been in love with anyone… Before you, I mean. It just didn’t feel like this.”

                Arthur unfolded his arms and placed his hands back on Alfred’s shoulders. “How inviting, Alfred. We were born to love each other, bound by fate, yet neither of us truly knows how to love.” Arthur wrinkled his nose while Alfred smiled at the thought. “How, pray tell, will we go about expressing such love?”

                “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Alfred said quietly as he closed his eyes and leaned forward. He could feel Arthur’s lips just brush against his own before he leaned back quickly. “Wait. So, can I still be jealous when other people hug you and…” Alfred frowned deeply at the thought, “Whispered in your ear?”

                Pausing only a second to giggle, Arthur pulled Alfred down for one last kiss before he whispered a reassuring, “I am faithful only to my husband, I assure you.” Another kiss was pressed to Alfred’s lips. “And now that you say you love me,” one more kiss, “I have no intentions of letting you out of my sight this evening.”

                Alfred felt a pleasant shiver race down his spine. “What… what happens when we go home?”

                Arthur held his lips only a fraction of a breath away as he sighed, “What indeed.” Before pulling himself from Alfred’s arms and walking away. There was a ridiculous grin on Alfred’s face as he turned his back to the garden and raced after his husband. Without hesitation, he took Arthur’s hand and held it tight as they neared the doorway that would lead them back to the Ball of Hearts.

                “Back to the party and back to civilization,” Arthur muttered to himself as he reached up a hand to straighten the white bow around his neck. “Though I’ve never felt so hesitant to return.”

                Nodding in agreement, Alfred tugged on Arthur’s hand to keep him away from the Ball for at least one second longer. “One more kiss,” he promised when Arthur gave him a disapproving look. “Just one more to keep me pleasant for all of your fancy friends.”

                “You cheeky boy… you’d rather indulge in the magic of Hearts than meet our allies?”

                Alfred grinned. “I don’t know. I kind of like this indulgence. Just kiss me one more time, and we can go be civilized.”

                When Arthur grabbed his collar and pulled him down, Alfred was given three kisses. One was sloppy due to the smiles on their faces, the second was interrupted by Arthur’s laughter, and the third was one chaste brush of their lips that acted as a seal on a promise.

                +++++

                After returning from the garden, the evening had resumed without a hitch. It was almost as if the rushed, confusing confession in the garden had never even occurred. Arthur had indeed showed his “possessive” and “jealous” sides when they went back into the ballroom. An arm was looped around Alfred’s for the entirety of every conversation with other people, and if they weren’t speaking to anyone, Arthur would run his hands over the front of Alfred’s coat, pulling at a wrinkle here or straightening his crown. Alfred wasn’t left anywhere alone for longer than two seconds. Not that it bothered him. If he couldn’t see Arthur, he felt anxious. So, having his husband near him was beneficial to both parties.

                When the mingling was in full swing, a chime rang through the ballroom and Ludwig’s booming, bass voice declared that dinner was served. After dinner, the dancefloor would open up and Alfred would gladly pull Arthur into his arms. But that was still an entire meal away. In the meantime, Alfred had to sit at a table that was long enough to span the entire length of a room big enough to be a concert hall. All of the hundreds of guests were seated at the table and idly chatting to one another while they ate while the Card Kingdom royalty was seated at the head of the table. Alfred could hear the occasional giggle from guests amidst the clatter of dishware. As a pleasant surprise, he was allowed to drink wine, though Arthur kept a watchful eye on him every time he took a hesitant sip of the bitter drink.

                Across from him, Alfred slowly brought his fork to his lips as Kiku leaned toward Ludwig and murmured something quietly in his ear. Whatever Kiku said made Ludwig’s normally sour expression into something almost human, much to Alfred’s surprise. To his right, Elizabeth spoke energetically with Lili – the Queen of Diamonds was truly just as young as Arthur promised – while Elizabeth’s husband, Ivan, watched on with a peaceful expression. Lili sat back in her chair and giggled at something Elizabeth said while the King of Diamonds, Francis, eyed Arthur over the rim of his cup.

                Alfred frowned. The King of Diamonds had been looking at Arthur throughout the entire meal. If Arthur noticed, he was an expert at hiding it. The Queen of Spades lifted his fork slowly and brushed a piece of blonde hair from his eyes before he parted his lips and took a bite. He never looked in Francis’s direction. Not even once.

                However, Francis decided to clear his throat to gain the attention of the Card Kingdom royalty.

                “So, King of Spades,” he began haughtily as he smoothed a hand over his ruffled, lacy collar. His wavy blond hair was tied back in a ribbon, but his bangs swept forward to frame his delicate face as he smiled at Alfred. He looked like a snake with that sly grin.

                Alfred put down his fork and forced a smile to his own lips. “Just Alfred, please.”

                Francis sniffed and waved his hand at the request. “Tell me, King of Spades, have you mastered the strength of Spades yet?”

                Francis was probably talking about the superhuman strength that was supposed to bless the King of Spades. Unfortunately for Alfred, he had yet to be “blessed.” Arthur had told him that he would gain the powers soon… when he fully understood what it meant to be King. So, as Francis pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, Alfred had no chance but to bite the inside of his cheek and continue to smile.

                “Not quite yet, I’m afraid,” Alfred confessed. Ludwig lifted his eyes for a moment nodding once in understanding. “Those skills are a little bit out of my reach for now.”

                “No shame in admitting it. I think it’s wise to let yourself get a hold of the kingdom before delving into such magic,” Elizabeth smiled brightly, gaining the attention of the royals when she patted Alfred’s right hand soothingly. “I remember when Ludwig became King… poor thing didn’t know how to control the furious love that built up when he was near Kiku.”

                Alfred’s smile grew genuine when he looked at Ludwig. The King of Hearts brought up a hand to shield his eyes as his cheeks flared a brilliant red. Next to him, Kiku smiled and looked down at his lap. Arthur sat forward in his chair and laughed at the expression.

                “Oh, I remember. The first ball you came to Ludwig, do you remember? Kiku was taller than you, at the time.” Arthur placed a hand over his heart and smiled. “Twenty… no, thirty-three years ago. You were such a little thing… so in love.”

                Elizabeth nodded fervently, tapping her hands on the table. “Not that long after Ivan became my King, I recall. Poor, little Ludwig took in the love of Hearts so quickly he didn’t even have a chance to breathe.” Alfred glanced over to see Ivan chuckle into his wine glass before he took a long drink. Ludwig started to drum his fingers on the table impatiently. Elizabeth nodded again. “Yes, I recall it perfectly, the way you held his hand and followed him everywhere he went. Everyone knows that Kiku doesn’t enjoy physical affection, be it an embrace or otherwise… oh, but he let you hold him. So sweet.”

                “I do believe I was speaking to the King of Spades about his _strength_ ,” Francis said with a pointed look in Elizabeth’s direction while Ludwig glared at his dinner plate.

                Arthur sat back in his chair and picked up his fork again. “Very true,” he agreed slowly. “But everyone has free will to speak of what they wish.”

                “It would be best,” Ludwig said gruffly, “If you changed the subject from my childhood embarrassment.”

                “Right then,” Francis said loudly, hushing many of the raucous conversations occurring around them. Be it Card Kingdom royalty or the random nobles of different places, dozens of eyes turned to look at the King of Diamonds when he turned his electric blue eyes on Alfred. “Would you explain why the strength of Spades is out of your reach?”

                Alfred’s right hand was grasped tightly by Elizabeth while Arthur’s hand slipped under the table to pat his left knee comfortingly. Smiling at Francis was becoming a chore, but Alfred kept it up as he spoke in a plainly polite tone.

“I beg your pardon?”

                “Understanding our kingdoms and the roles within them… that is what’s required for us to gain the powers from the gods. So, I must wonder why you don’t understand those things yet…” Francis turned his discomforting glare to Arthur, who raised his chin defiantly. “Is your teacher lacking in his methods? Or is he simply incapable of teaching someone the noble art of royalty?”

                The royals went quiet. Kiku froze with his fork in his mouth and Lili’s eyes went wide as she held her wine glass to her lips. Arthur was no doubt the oldest person in the room, and all of them had known him for years, so the idea of Francis insulting him was unspeakable. But there Francis was, with a smug smile on his lips and his fingers drumming the table casually. If it weren’t for Arthur’s hand on his leg, Alfred would’ve launched himself across the table and beat the sorry-ass Frenchman in the face. Him and his hard-to-understand accent.

Elizabeth’s grip on Alfred’s hand was almost uncomfortable as she glared at Francis, and he almost told her to let go, but there was a harsher, more painful feeling being administered to his leg. Arthur’s fingernails were biting through the fabric of his trousers and into his thigh. Squirming just a bit, Alfred shifted his legs until Arthur’s hold on his leg subsided, and he was free to continue smiling in Francis’s direction.

                “Arthur is far from incapable,” he smiled brightly, feeling Elizabeth’s hand relax. Kiku gave a relieved sigh, and Lili and Ivan both took a drink from their wine glasses while Alfred continued. “He’s taught me so much about Spades. There’s just so much rich history… and there are so many wonderful people to meet and speak with, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking my time and learning everything about my kingdom.”

                Across the table, Kiku nodded slowly in agreement while Elizabeth leaned over to whisper something in Ivan’s ear that made the man give another deep, throaty chuckle. Just like that, the insult in Arthur’s direction had been diverted, and the meal had gone back to its comfortable civility once more. Francis made a face that was obviously meant to broadcast his displeasure, but Alfred only sat back with a satisfied smile.

                “You are a smart man,” Ivan said smoothly as he hooked an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. She leaned into him with a smile while the rest of the table continued eating. All except for Francis, who glared at Alfred while Ivan spoke. “Not everyone is allowed the time to truly understand the kingdom before the powers are thrust upon us.”

A chorus of agreeing murmurs traveled through the Card Kingdom royalty, and Alfred smiled at Arthur’s half-interested hum.

 Ivan continued. “Ludwig gained his love for the land and the people quickly because of his adoration for Kiku.” Ludwig hummed into his glass as he took a drink. “I gained my luck from saving my wife,” Elizabeth preened and traced a soft finger over Ivan’s jawline fondly. “And Francis…” Ivan smiled wryly as he gave the King of Diamonds a sidelong glance. “Well, he simply loves to influence people. Does that sound right, Francis?”

                Francis snorted derisively and Lili, the poor girl, bowed her head embarrassedly. Secondhand shame was clear in her expression, but Francis made no move to defend himself. In fact, he seemed proud of his power to “influence” people.

                “The influence of Diamonds works in my favor,” he announced to the table. Alfred was amused to see how Ludwig rolled his eyes and hear Ivan sigh heavily. This topic was probably constantly visited then. Francis leaned forward over the table and smiled at Arthur, making it increasingly difficult for Alfred to remain civil and in his seat. “If it can crack that icy barrier around Arthur’s heart, then I confess, I love to influence people.”

                The table went quiet once more as Francis continued to grin at Arthur. No doubt struggling to keep himself civil, Arthur worked his jaw furiously as his face turned down to scowl at his dinner plate. Alfred clenched his hands on the solid, oak table and squirmed in his seat. He wanted to hit Francis. To make him go away. To keep him away from Arthur and keep the beautiful Queen of Spades happy, no matter what it took. It was almost the same feeling of disgust and anger Alfred had felt when he read the Archives and saw Donovan. Stupid Donovan.

                “In all honesty,” Alfred said through clenched teeth, ignoring the stares that the other royals sent him in favor of Francis’s displeased frown. “I think that your skill is pointless when it comes to Arthur. He obviously doesn’t like your behavior.”

                “Oh?” Francis raised an eyebrow as Arthur lifted his head abruptly. “I think you’re quite wrong, _mon frère_ ,” Alfred winced at the foreign and unwelcome nickname, but Francis didn’t make a move to explain it as he continued. “My influence has gained me one perfect night with–”

                “Francis, please,” Arthur interrupted quickly, his voice cracking halfway through the Frenchman’s name.

                “Oh my god…” Alfred closed his eyes and felt his smile melt down into something genuine. It made sense. Why Arthur didn’t like Francis, the “mistake” that Arthur had made so many years ago, how Francis was holding it over his head… they had slept together. Mostly to do with Francis’ influence, no doubt. “It all makes sense, now,” Alfred said with a slow shake of his head.

Opening his eyes, Alfred leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s cheek. The Queen of Spades blinked spastically at the action, lifting a hand to brush the tips of his fingers over the cheek Alfred kissed.

“Ah… Alfred?”

Alfred turned back to Francis and let his smile fade into the most unamused expression he could accomplish. A severe glare that had frightened Fredrick one too many times when he was woken up too early. Much to Alfred’s pleasure, Francis visibly recoiled from the expression, leaning back and away into his chair while the other royals watched on with giddy expressions.

“I believe that this is an inappropriate topic for dinner, King of Diamonds,” Alfred grunted darkly as Francis sat back in his chair with a perturbed expression. “It would be best if we chose a better topic of conversation.” Blinking away the glare in his eyes, Alfred turned to Ivan, who was furiously fighting back his laughter as he looked at Francis’s expression. “King Ivan, I haven’t learned that much about Clubs, but I’d like to know about it. What can you tell me?”

Ivan made a garbled noise of amused confusion while Elizabeth leaned toward him and giggled into his arm. Arthur sighed heavily and Alfred turned to smile at his husband while Kiku hid his own smile behind his hand.

“Honor to the King of Spades,” Ivan said with a tip of his cup in Alfred’s direction. “For today, his influence has bested the King of Diamonds.”

Elizabeth, Lili, and Ludwig all raised their glasses and cheered something – in German? Alfred couldn’t quite tell – while Francis sunk deeper into his chair. Elizabeth proceeded to giggle with Lili before she fell sideways against Ivan once more, the latter of which gladly put his arm around her. As Francis sulked, Lili passed a hand through his hair absently as she stoked up a conversation with Ivan. Ludwig resumed eating quietly after the toast to Francis’ shut down, looking as stoic as ever.

Kiku sat forward in his chair and murmured to Arthur over the table, “Very smart. I can see why you like him.”

“Oh, yes,” Arthur whispered back eagerly. Alfred glanced over to see Arthur bite his lower lip before saying, “But that’s only one of the reasons I adore him.”

With a sure smile, Alfred lifted his glass in Francis’s direction and tipped his head back to take a long drink of wine. After putting down his glass on the table, Alfred realized to some surprise that the cup never seemed to empty. When Alfred put it back on the table, it magically refilled itself. So, realistically, Alfred had no idea how much wine he’d been drinking all evening.

Leaning over to whisper to Arthur, Alfred felt his lips brush the shell of the Queen’s ear as he spoke. “Hey, um… I know I just did something really cool by telling Francis off and everything, but, uh… I think that’s gonna be the highlight of the evening. How much of this wine stuff have I been drinking?”

“Alfred, my darling, do you believe that you are drunk?”

Alfred sat back a bit and scowled down at Arthur. “Do I… well, no. Not yet.”

Biting his lower lip, Arthur picked up his teacup and whispered to the contents, “Not yet, he says,” before setting the cup down and looking at Alfred with a disapproving arch of his eyebrow. “Remember, Alfred… we do have to dance after this. I’d rather remain upright for the majority of said dancing, if that’s not too much to ask.”

                Alfred nodded slowly in consideration before picking up his wine glass and moving it over to sit by Arthur’s plate. “Maybe you should just look after that for a while, then,” he suggested while Arthur gave him a speculative look.

                With the way that the rest of the table laughed at the display, Alfred reasoned that the rest of the meal would finish without a hitch. That was, if Francis could keep his remarks to himself. The dancing, however… Alfred just hoped that Arthur’s natural grace could make up for his two left feet and less than satisfactory sobriety.


	13. Non Dediscere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING: EXPLICIT MENTIONS OF RAPE. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING.**  
>  Thank you.

                Before Alfred had come to Spades, he had been a poster child for perfect behavior. Setting aside the discrepancies of his behavior when he was two years old and eager to play outside with or without clothing, Alfred had been a good boy. He went to parties but didn’t drink, no matter how many cups were pushed in his direction. He went out on dates with girls and boys, and left them with kisses on their cheeks instead of hickeys on their necks. He’d walked in on people doing drugs in the bathroom, and politely refused a blunt. All in all, Alfred knew that he’d been a good kid.

At least he had been… before he’d come to Spades.

                At the Ball of Hearts, Alfred had been allowed to drink the wine at the table, just as any of the other royals had been. Even Lili, the petite and polite young girl, didn’t hesitate to lift her wine glass and smile at whoever was speaking while she took a drink. Now, this wasn’t to say that Lili overindulged in the slightly bitter drink; in fact, she made a point to set the wine glass aside halfway through the meal and drink only from her water glass thereafter.

Alfred had _tried_ to be so responsible. He had set his wine glass next to Arthur’s plate early on, but that hadn’t erased the pleasant buzz in the back of Alfred’s mind. Nor did it stop the itching tingle in the back of his throat that willed him to reach across and just take one more drink. But, when Alfred woke up in his bed face down with a fuzzy texture in his mouth, he knew something had probably gone very wrong. He just couldn’t remember what it was.

He remembered dinner and listening to Ivan’s description of Clubs: “Yes, it’s cold. It’s always cold in Clubs. I prefer the warmer places… they’re much more relaxing.” And he watched as Lili comforted Francis as he continued to sulk at the table. The meal had finished smoothly, and Alfred had taken Arthur to the dancefloor with slightly unsteady feet.

“My, my, Alfred,” Arthur had whispered when Alfred put a firm hand on his waist. “Since when did you become so bold?”

“Dunno,” Alfred smiled – or had he laughed? He couldn’t remember – while he stepped back to begin the dance. Arthur followed easily. “Maybe telling off Francis has boosted my confidence.”

Arthur pursed his lips and nodded before muttering, “That, or the wine has gone to your head, my darling.”

At the mention of the wine, Alfred stumbled to the side but didn’t fall. He didn’t want to embarrass Arthur. And, from what he remembered, he didn’t embarrass Arthur. They continued to dance for several more songs before being asked to dance with several other people. Needless to say, dancing with the strangers wasn’t nearly as fun as dancing with Arthur. There was a girl – Collins? Carson? Alfred couldn’t quite recall – that insisted on telling Alfred her entire family history while they waltzed, and one boy had been so nervous, he’d stared at Alfred’s feet through the entire dance.

Ludwig had invited Alfred and Ivan to his study to talk for a moment – and then what? He didn’t remember what they talked about, but he remembered laughing and agreeing with something Ludwig had said. But there was no real topic of conversation he could recall. He remained upright and awake for the remainder of the Ball, but everything after that… Blank. Nothing to be reported. No memory.

Sitting up in bed with a numb tongue and an aching head, Alfred squinted at the curtain covered windows. Light could be seen streaming through them, but it was much too bright to be early morning. Reaching a hand over to the bedside table – why was he on Arthur’s side of the bed? – Alfred grabbed his glasses and pushed them onto his face slowly.

Fredrick always, _always_ opened up the curtains in the morning when Alfred and Arthur had to wake up, and yet, the curtains were closed. Had Arthur told the boy to leave them shut? Alfred blinked. Arthur. Where was he? Rolling over, Alfred noted that he was alone in his bed with Arthur nowhere to be found. Though there was a significant trail of clothing leading from the door to the bed, the Queen of Spades was nowhere to be found.

Alfred sat still on the bed for a second, looking down at his bare chest in awe-struck wonder. He didn’t remember undressing himself. Did Arthur…? Alfred looked closer at the pile of clothing, noting that his coat, vest, and shirt were the only things there. Arthur’s clothing was missing, just like the ethereal man himself. Armed in only his trousers, Alfred slid off of the bed and trudged to the bathroom in hopes of erasing the fuzzy texture in his mouth.

“Arthur?” He croaked softly, hearing only his voice echo eerily in response.

Quickly going through his morning routine, Alfred tried to ignore the pang of pain in his head as he stumbled back into the bedroom and opened up the wardrobe. He pulled on his stockings and pushed his feet into his riding boots before he stood up and walked out the door with his vest under his arm, buttoning his shirt as he left.

“Arthur? He called again as he progressed through the palace slowly.

Light cut through the clean windows that lined the hallways, and with a painful squint, Alfred noted that it was in fact early afternoon in Spades. Tucking his shirt into his trousers, Alfred frowned at the thought. Arthur had probably let him sleep in because he knew Alfred would have a hangover. Continuing on his trek through the palace, Alfred saw Annie, one of his favorite cooks, walking down the hall with a basket of apples slung around her arm.

“Annie!” Alfred immediately winced when his voice rang through his ears almost painfully. Squinting at the older woman, Alfred struggled to smile when she approached him. “Sorry, that was loud.”

“Not at all,” she said with a shake of her head, reaching up a hand to wipe a hand across Alfred’s cheek fondly. She smiled up at him before she took her hand back and made a pinching motion to her lips. “You were very quiet, in fact. A long night in the Kingdom of Hearts, I assume?”

“You can assume that,” Alfred muttered again while Annie gave him a knowing smile. Her bronze skin was given a golden glow from the sunlight, but the sun also accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Alfred sighed. “I can’t really remember all of it. Can you tell me where Arthur is?”

“Ah, I see. Is that why we’re whispering?” Annie leaned back and covered her mouth while she giggled lightly before she stood up straight again and poked a finger at Alfred’s chest. “This is what happens when you let him out of your sight. I remember when I was a little girl and he would play with my friends and I in the garden,” Annie smiled at a fond memory while Alfred tried to look interested. “Yes, he would use that cunning magic of his to make it nearly impossible to find him. Such a card, that man.”

“Yes, he’s really something,” Alfred said through clenched teeth while Annie continued to smile to herself. “But, do you know where he is?”

“The Queen? Why, he’s in the garden. Reading, I’m sure… or tending to the lilacs.” Annie waved her hand in front of her face, almost like she was trying to wipe away her words. “His Majesty always did love working in the garden. I always tell him not to dirty his trousers by getting down into the dirt, but he never listened,” Alfred winced when Annie laughed at the thought; she was just so _loud_. “You’d think he’d start to behave like a royal after all of these years… But he’s a common boy at heart.”

While Annie nodded to herself, Alfred made a mental note to never ask her questions when he had a hangover. If he ever got a hangover again. With the way he was feeling now, Alfred doubted he’d feel inclined to drink alcohol again if the chance arose. As Annie opened her mouth to no doubt say something about Arthur being a “common boy,” Alfred put a hand on her soft shoulder and gave her the nicest smile he could manage.

“Thank you, Annie. Really. You’re the greatest help I’ve received all day. You’re just the best.”

And with that compliment, Alfred slipped past Annie and down the hallway that would lead to the garden. Behind him, he heard Annie sputter in a confused manner before murmuring to herself, “I’m… that’s… I hardly think so.”

To Alfred’s dismay, the garden was even brighter than the inside of the palace. Piercing sunlight made his eyes hurt, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the chirping birds felt like cheese graters on his brain. There was too much stimulation and not enough brainpower in Alfred’s head to process it. Keeping his eyes on his the ground and his mind focused on anything but his headache, Alfred proceeded down the path that would lead him to Arthur.

There, waiting for him in the terrace, Arthur was sitting in his designated chair with a book in his hand and a steaming cup of tea on the table. Though he didn’t look up from his book while Alfred trudged toward the table, it was obvious in the sly smile on Arthur’s lips that he knew about Alfred’s hangover. Just as Alfred sat down in his chair, Arthur closed his book with a quick _snap_ and set it on the table.

“Good morning, my dear,” Arthur said with far too much enthusiasm. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut as his temples throbbed painfully. Holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, Alfred shied away from Arthur’s bright smile and loud voice.

“Um… yeah, good morning. Could you just… um…”

Arthur sat forward and spoke even louder. “Sorry? You’ll have to speak up, Alfred. I can hardly hear you.”

Removing his hand from his eyes, Alfred gave Arthur a dark smile. “Do you enjoy my pain?”

“Only when you deserve it, darling.” Arthur sat back and lowered his voice, taking up the teapot as he did. Without waiting for Alfred’s response on the tea, Arthur poured him a cup and pushed it towards him. “Drink this; it should help your headache.”

Alfred gave the cloudy beverage a skeptical look and a gruff, “Thanks,” before looking back up at Arthur. “And since when do you call me ‘darling?’”

Arthur’s tranquil expression took a sharp turn as his eyebrows drew down in worry. “Last night, we… oh, Alfred please tell me you remember.”

                Feeling his stomach churn nervously, Alfred held his trembling hands over his eyes again. Did he miss something important from last night? There was the garden, dinner, and the dancing… and then, Ludwig called him and Ivan to his study, and they… what? What happened after that? Did Arthur talk to him about something important, and he couldn’t remember because he was so drunk? How could anyone get that drunk from wine?

                Alfred took a shaky breath. “I… well, I remember getting to the Ball of Hearts… I remember everything in the garden and dinner, but then –”

                Arthur’s sigh of relief interrupted Alfred before he went any further, and Alfred looked up to see Arthur holding a delicate, gloved hand over his heart. “Thank heavens… I was afraid you’d forgotten. Oh, how would that situation play out, I wonder? Surely, another confession would be in order.” Arthur shook his head, took a drink of tea, and then set his teacup down with an air of finality. “One confession was enough for my heart, thank you. Another would be…” Arthur looked up at the ceiling of the terrace before taking a deep breath. “That would be far too much.”

                Alfred blinked slowly. “Oh. So all of the… ‘darling’s and ‘my dear’s are just because…”

                “Because I adore you,” Arthur explained bluntly as he returned his gaze to Alfred’s tired expression. His green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Unless you’d like me to stop calling you those things. I’d rather not make you uncomfortable, Alfred. If you wish me to stop –”

                “What? No!” Alfred sat forward in his chair and knocked his knee against the bottom of the table, rattling everything that sat on top of it and spilling the cup of tea Arthur had poured for him.

Arthur was out of his chair immediately, picking up the book he’d been reading and setting it on his chair, where it would be safe. Alfred reached for the overturned cup, but Arthur’s deft hands beat him to it, already wiping up the spilled tea with a pale blue, cloth napkin.

Arthur continued to work as Alfred stood by numbly, rubbing at his aching temples as he chanted, “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Arthur. I know I’m not supposed to swear, but… fuck, I’m sorry.”

                “Crass language is not acceptable at any table,” Arthur agreed quietly as he dabbed at the last of the spill. “But, just for this moment, I can accept the use of it.” Arthur shooed Alfred away from the table as he lifted Alfred’s empty plate and wiped beneath it. “Then again, it’s not me you should apologize to; this specially brewed tea was meant to help _you_ with that aching head of yours. I’m not the one that needs it.”

                Alfred squinted at Arthur’s back as the Queen of Spades slid the cloth napkin across the table slowly. “You made that stuff… just for me? Don’t you need some?”

                Arthur stood up straight and set the soiled napkin aside before pulling off his now wet gloves. “No, I do not. Unlike you and many others, I don’t like alcohol. I’ve seen too many men reduced to disgusting, pig-headed fools because of it... I’d rather not see myself become that kind of mess, so I refuse to drink.”

                Alfred winced. Arthur probably thought he was stupid for drinking the wine, then. “Well, that’s pretty smart of you. Now I understand why you said I deserve the pain.”

                Arthur turned on his heel to give Alfred a sharp look. “Oh, I don’t think you do, Alfred. I don’t care whether or not you drink, it’s simply the actions that occur after the drinking that bother me.” There was a beat of silence as Arthur touched his pale fingers to his chin, looking at Alfred closely. “You don’t remember what happened after the Ball of Hearts… do you?”

                “I… no, I don’t,” Alfred swallowed thickly while Arthur pursed his lips and walked back to his own chair. “What happened? What did I do?”

                There were a few, brief moments of silence while Arthur picked up his book and tapped the small slivers of paper poking out of the pages. Page markers? Alfred squinted at the book before adjusting his glasses stepping closer to Arthur. He’d seen this book before… it seemed like it was a long time ago, but he clearly remembered the dark, navy blue cover and the slightly yellow pages.

                “The Archives,” Alfred surmised breathlessly while Arthur gave one, curt nod. “You… you brought the Archives out here. Aren’t they supposed to stay in the library? In that room?”

                “Well, I do suppose that I could have taken you to the library after breakfast,” Arthur hummed nonchalantly as he picked up his chair and moved it away from the table. “But, I didn’t think you’d be willing to make that long of a journey.”

                Alfred rolled his eyes. “Arthur, I’m not dying. I’m just hungover.”

                Arthur waved his hand at the statement. “Be that as it may, I’ve brought the Archives to you as a source of enlightenment. The pages that are marked will serve as your guide through the previous evening.”

Arthur held the book out to Alfred, and when Alfred didn’t automatically take it, he shifted his weight from his left foot to his right and ordered, “Take the Archives, Alfred.”

Alfred scrambled to take the book as Arthur tapped the empty chair impatiently. “Come, come, now. We haven’t all morning. There are only two things I’d like to show you, and then we simply must move on.”

                The air of the terrace was crisp and sweet when a breeze blew by, and Alfred smelled roses on the wind as he sat down. Alfred remembered that the palace of Hearts had a garden full of red roses. He remembered the way Arthur had looked in the garden. Surrounded by budding, scarlet blooms. The moon was almost full that past evening, and it shone through the clouds just enough to give Arthur his own, heavenly glow. He had been beautiful… but, Alfred thought with a smile, he was always beautiful.

                “Alfred?” At the hushed sound of Arthur’s voice, Alfred looked up from the book in his lap and sheepishly smiled at Arthur. “Come now; focus on the task at hand. The page is marked; simply open the book.”

                Arthur placed his hands on Alfred’s shoulders supportively, but Alfred couldn’t help but feel like he was going to be disappointed in himself when he opened the Archives. The pages would probably show him the stupid and reckless things he’d done the previous night. Arthur was already mildly upset by these actions, so reliving it through the Archives didn’t sound like a good idea. Nonetheless, Alfred hooked his forefinger under the first page marker, licked his lips, and opened the book.

                Without having to ask for a certain time or person, the garden around Alfred and Arthur warped and began to fade away. Before the umbrella-shaped canopy leaves disappeared from sight, Alfred caught a glance of Gracia the gardener bending down to water the small petunias that lined the garden walkway. But, just as soon as he noticed her, she and the garden were replaced by the unmistakable vision of the palace of Hearts. Glancing at where Arthur was still standing behind his chair, Alfred bit his lip and watched Arthur’s calm expression.

                “Arthur?”

                Arthur looked down to him immediately, smiling warmly. “Yes, Alfred.”

                “Won’t Gracia see this? Or… I guess, anybody else who’s walking past the terrace… won’t they see everything?” The landscape trembled slightly, as if an earthquake was rocking the land to and fro, until it finally settled on the exterior of the Palace of Hearts. Alfred squinted up at the large flags hanging from an archway door before looking back to Arthur again. “Aren’t they not allowed to see this stuff?”

                Arthur’s hand on his shoulders flexed and tightened while Arthur’s smile refused to fade.

                “No, she won’t. Only those of royal status may read the Archives, Alfred. Therefore, even if we are here in the garden, she won’t see what we see.”

                “Oh,” Alfred nodded dumbly as he looked at the book in his lap. Arthur had told him that only royalty could read the book before, so asking again was a stupid thing to do. “So what if –”

                “Arthur!” Alfred was cut-off by the sound of his own voice, and he looked up to see himself – or rather, the Archive version of himself – stumbling under the archway with Arthur under his arm. Arthur grunted as he tried to keep Memory-Alfred upright. The pair lost their footing and tripped forward several steps, much to Alfred’s chagrin. “Arthur,” Memory-Alfred called loudly again, “That… that was… We… We should do this all the time!”

                “I think not,” Memory-Arthur hissed as he began to drag his husband toward the waiting carriage. “If we did this all the time, I’m sure you would die from sheer over-indulgence of alcohol.”

                “No way,” the drunk Alfred replied haughtily with a vague wave of his hand. “I din’… drink that much.”

                Alfred squirmed in his chair; was he really _that_ dumb last night? Arthur’s hands on his shoulders gave him a reassuring pat. It didn’t make him feel any better as he watched himself lean against Arthur with even more enthusiasm.

                Arthur had squeaked and shuffled beneath Alfred’s weight, but still managed to bring him to a stop at the large base of the archway without falling on his face. There, Arthur leaned Alfred against the large, granite structure so he could straighten their crowns and coats.

                “Hey,” Alfred had called drunkenly with a wide smile. Arthur refastened the top three buttons on his coat calmly. “I said _hey_. Hey, Arthur.”

                “Hello, darling,” Arthur droned warily; he was obviously running out of patience. “What may I help you with?”

                “I think, um,” there was a pause while Alfred squinted at Arthur, as if he had to make sure that he was seeing the right person. “I think you’re the… the um… the prettiest person in the history of, um… what’s a long time, here?”

                The view of the Archives shimmered a bit before presenting a depiction of Arthur’s bored expression.

                “Eons?” The Queen had supplied tiredly as Alfred reached forward to pull at the top three buttons of his coat. “Centuries? Decades? What are you doing, boy?”

                Tripping over numb fingers, Alfred pulled open the top of Arthur’s prim and proper coat to reveal a sliver of his pale neck under the lacy bow of his collar. “Takin’ off your coat. I’m hot. Are you hot? I feel… it’s hot in here.”

                Arthur swatted away Alfred hands and refastened the buttons. “Enough of that, now. You did that earlier. It’s not hot, Alfred. And we aren’t inside. We’re outside, remember?”

                “You sure?” Alfred looked up and made a befuddled expression when he saw the vast sky filled with stars. “I thought we… we were inside.”

                “Yes, my dearest,” Arthur had agreed slowly, picking up Alfred’s arm and slinging it over his shoulders. “We were _inside_ , but now we are _outside_.”

                Looking away from the Archives, Alfred cast a weary glance at the real Arthur over his shoulder. “Is that why you’re annoyed?” He asked quietly, as if the Archives would hear him if he spoke too loud. “Because I unbuttoned your coat?”

                Arthur’s left hand came up to comb through Alfred’s hair absently while Arthur continued to watch the Archives. It was a soothing motion, but Alfred didn’t quite let himself be caught up in it. It was probably meant to help distract him from his headache.

                “I’m simply trying to show you repercussions of drinking too much,” Arthur replied simply.

                Alfred turned back to the Archives to see himself and Arthur walking toward the carriage before he leaned his head back into Arthur’s kneading fingers.

                “How would you show me that?”

                “You’ll see,” Arthur hummed as his fingernails dragged across Alfred’s scalp that simply felt _too good_. “Just wait. It’s almost over.”

                Refocusing his eyes on the Archives, Alfred watched as he and Arthur came to a stumbling halt just a few steps away from the carriage. Narrowing his eyes, Alfred watched himself turn away from Arthur and feel around blindly for the edge of a small shed behind him that was far out of reach.

                “Alfred,” Arthur had called to him nervously as he shuffled toward the shed. “Alfred, darling… we should away. Home is calling to you.”

                “I don’…” Alfred slurred and tripped as he grasped the edge of the shed that was probably meant to house supplies for the guards palace. “Arthur, I don’t feel good.”

                Before Arthur could properly respond, several more guests began to meander their way out of the palace and toward the other carriages that were waiting. Arthur’s eyes went wide in panic, and he rushed to place a solid, supportive hand on Alfred’s back.

                “Alfred, please. Let us go; we will stop the carriage on the way home, if need be.”

                With a shake of his head, Alfred denied the plan and sent his golden crown to the ground. Arthur caught it before it had a chance to roll away, but he didn’t stop urging Alfred toward the carriage.

                “Come, Alfred. I’ll let you lay your head in my lap. How does that sound?” Alfred made an unintelligible noise, and Arthur licked his lips nervously. “Rest will do you good. It will make you feel better, my love. We’ll go home, and you will feel better.”

                “’M gonna throw up,” Alfred groaned miserably while two women walked past him. The girls leaned into each other and giggled while Arthur made a desperate attempt to pull Alfred away from the shed with no avail.

                “No, no!” Arthur hissed as his right hand grasped Alfred’s shoulder and his left hand held Alfred’s crown. “Not here, Alfred! Not outside the Palace of Hearts! It is the utmost insult to vandalize a palace; we must go, _now_.”

                Trying to cooperate, Alfred managed to take one sideways step with Arthur before he bent over double and proceeded to vomit right next to the shed. Arthur winced, but rubbed a hand over Alfred’s back while he coughed. Several people stopped to stare, but very few asked what was wrong. “It must have been a bad salad,” Arthur had lied to a few before changing his answer to, “The Jokers must’ve slipped something into his drink; you know how they can be.” Arthur reused the excuses several times, but the words were overshadowed by the sound of Alfred coughing and gagging.

                When there was nothing left for Alfred to throw up, his legs trembled beneath him as he retched a few more times. Tears could be seen rolling down his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything as he stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and dropped his head onto Arthur’s shoulder. Sniffling could be heard, as if Alfred was crying, and Arthur placed a solid hand on the back of Alfred’s head, holding him to his shoulder.

                “And this is why you don’t accept vodka when Ludwig and Ivan offer it, my love.” Arthur crooned against the side of Alfred’s head as he continued to blubber into Arthur’s shoulder. “Now, let me sit you in the carriage, and you may put your precious head in my lap; is that all right?”

                Alfred grumbled something in the affirmative, and Arthur pushed him upright before painstakingly walking him toward the carriage.

                “No more…” Alfred hummed as Cherche jumped down from her driving perch to open the carriage door for him and Arthur.

                Arthur held Alfred steady as he began to climb into the carriage. “What was that, Alfred?”

                “Changed my mind,” Alfred said crankily as he fell back into the plush seats of the carriage. Arthur hung in the doorway of the carriage with a horrified expression.

                “Changed your mind?” He echoed incredulously. “Changed… about what, my King?”

                “I don’t wanna do parties all the time,” Alfred sighed as he laid down on the seat sideways. “Too much icky. Don’t want icky. Make the gross… icky… go away. Make it go away.”

                At that, Arthur visually relaxed. His shoulders dropped from their stiff line, and his fluttered shut while he smiled. He still held Alfred’s crown in his hand, and he reached forward to set it on the cushion across from Alfred.

                “Very well,” Arthur replied softly as he climbed into the carriage. The vision of the Archives shivered again, and changed to show the inside of the carriage. Arthur sat Alfred up while Cherche shut the door, and when Arthur was sitting comfortably, he slowly brought Alfred’s golden head back down to rest atop his thighs. “There you are. Perhaps you’ll feel better in the morning, Alfred.” His gloved fingers began to comb through Alfred’s hair as the Cherche called a command to the horses and the carriage lurched forward. Casting a wary glance out the carriage window, Arthur watched the Palace of Hearts disappear behind them before smiling down at Alfred’s sleepy expression. “I’m petting your hair, love. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted me to pet your hair when you were hurt. I think that this counts.”

                Before a response could be heard, the scene began to dissolve. The carriage melted away and the even sound of hoof beats fluttered away on the wind. Alfred blinked. Where did it all go? Snapping his eyes down to the Archives that still sat in his lap, he noticed that Arthur had turned the page. He didn’t go forward, though; he went back to the smaller page marker that Alfred hadn’t seen at first. Looking over his shoulder for some sort of signal from Arthur, Alfred squinted up at Arthur’s unreadable expression. His jade eyes seem placid and welcoming enough, but the hard-set line of his lips made Alfred nervous.

                “Now you know what happened after your over-indulgence. Now, you needn’t watch this next part if you don’t want to, Alfred,” he warned ominously as the world around them trembled and twisted into something new.

                Alfred opened his mouth to question the statement, but was interrupted once again by a terrified scream. Alfred jumped in his chair as his heart kicked into high gear; that voice was Arthur’s. He hadn’t heard Arthur scream like that before, but he’d heard Arthur shout in pained astonishment when he tripped down the stairs, once. That sound had stabbed at Alfred’s heart and made it difficult to breathe, but the scream he just heard… it made Alfred feel like he was going to cry.

                Turning his gaze forward, Alfred’s eyes went wide as he saw Arthur scrambling to get out of a bed. He was armed in nothing but his underwear, but Alfred couldn’t find it in himself to gawk at the beauty of his graceful form. He was too distracted by the other man who was lounging against the headboard of the bed with a smirk on his face. Alfred blinked hard. It was Francis.

                Arthur was showing him the aftermath of his one night with Francis. The one night he was tricked into bed by Francis’ influence. Alfred felt his blood begin to boil; Francis had poisoned Arthur’s thoughts with a dark kind of magic. It was as good as a date-rape drug.

                “You… You…!” Arthur pointed an accusing finger at Francis as he backed away from the bed on unsteady legs. Behind him, the windows showed early morning in Spades, and the flowers in the royal garden were just beginning to greet the sun. It was ideally a beautiful day, but the reality of it was undeniably ugly. Hitting the wall behind him, Arthur’s trembling legs gave out beneath him, and he slid to the floor in a wide-eyed, shaking heap. “You… You are a… You…”

                Francis snorted at Arthur’s disgusted visage. “You were pleased enough with me last night,” he said smoothly as he brushed his long, wavy hair from his eyes. “I don’t know why you are making such a fuss, _mon cher_.”

                Alfred’s hands clenched in the pages of the Archives as he watched Arthur’s shaking hands come up to hug himself. It looked like he was trying to hold himself together as he shivered on the floor. Alfred almost believed that Arthur just might break; his greens eyes didn’t hold their natural sparkle of life, but instead looked dull and void of emotion. No matter how much Arthur opened his mouth or moved his lips to shape words, no sound escaped it as he struggled to hold himself together.

                Francis sat up straight in Arthur’s bed – not the Master suite Alfred and Arthur shared now, Alfred noticed – and inspected his fingernails nonchalantly. “You are very loud. Has anyone told you that?” Across the room, Arthur flinched away from Francis’ voice, but Francis continued. “Yes, very loud. You enjoyed yourself, I know it. I’ve never obtained such grand praise.”

                “False,” Arthur interrupted quietly, inspecting the carpet with lifeless eyes.

                Francis stopped looking at his fingernails to glare at Arthur across the room. “ _What_ did you just say?”

                “It was false,” Arthur mumbled under his breath just loudly enough for Francis to hear. Arthur’s arms tightened around himself as he went on, “It was false praise, and you know it.”

                “I don’t know what you are saying, _mon cher_ ,” Francis chuckled.

                “Stop calling me that,” Arthur snapped, looking up from the soft, blue carpet with new fire in his watery emerald eyes. “You… You _tricked_ me. You _deceived_ me. That praise… It was never meant for you.”

                Francis laughed again, waving a well-manicured hand at Arthur as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “You said it to me, Queen of Spades. It was obviously meant for me.”

                “Just because I said it doesn’t mean I meant it, you blathering idiot!” Arthur hollered at Francis as he pressed himself back and against the wall. It was meant to be angry, but Alfred only heard it as broken. His voice cracked several times, and there was an unmistakable catch in his throat when he tilted his head back to hit it against the wall. Arthur groaned, and Alfred heard himself whimper in response. “You… You have defiled me… Taken something that was never meant to be within your reach.”

                Another snort could be heard from Francis as he slipped out of bed and plucked his trousers up from the floor. “I know for a fact that _many_ other men have ‘defiled’ you. Honestly, do you think that your little night guests go unnoticed?”

                 “They never defiled,” Arthur huffed, “They never _stole_ from me because I gave to them. Willingly. But you,” Arthur glared at Francis from his small place against the wall. “ _You_ controlled me. Made me do what I’ve never wanted to do. You… you are a disgrace to mankind.”

                “Are you sure?” The King of Diamonds asked innocently as he pulled his pale, grey trousers over his legs and fasted the button on them. “Do you _really_ think that?”

                Arthur’s eyes went flaccid again, and his hold on himself went slack. Alfred could feel tears running down his cheeks, but he only rubbed them away when he couldn’t see Arthur’s face. He was afraid for Arthur, and even though it was a past that he couldn’t change, he wanted nothing more than to go to the broken, tortured Arthur in front of him and hold him tight.

                Looking down at the floor again, Arthur blinked slowly. “I don’t… I don’t know what I think. I don’t…” His brow furrowed, and he blinked hard, regaining his own thoughts. “Stop. Stop it!” Arthur’s shaking hands came up to cradle his head in his hands. “Enough of your verbal facades! You will not control me!” Francis rolled his eyes, but Arthur continued. “You will leave Spades. _Immediately_. And you will not return until official tradition requires you to do so!”

                Francis took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, but something hit him before he words could leave his mouth. It was like a translucent wall came barraging at him from the side and he went flying. Alfred squinted at the sight, and immediately recognized the glowing blue magic of Spades that he’d only seen once before. It wasn’t the harmless, dazzling blue orbs that fell from the sky when Arthur was a child, but a thick wall of glowing light that slammed into Francis and pushed him out of the room and sent him tumbling into the hall.

                “Get out!” Arthur cried, waving his arms in Francis’ direction.

The magic wall went flying at the King of Diamonds again, but Francis quickly scrambled up onto his hands and knees and leapt away from the room. Leaving the Queen of Spades a quivering, shouting mess.

“Get out, get out!” Arthur screamed after him, pounding his fists on the floor and sending the destructive magic around the room.

The oak frame of his bed splintered and snapped without warning as specs of glowing, star-shaped magic burst from the wreckage. The large wardrobe crumbled to dust soon after, and the windows cracked and shattered, one by one. Arthur stayed on the floor, gasping for breath and surrounded by shards of glass. He must’ve known the glass was there, but he probably didn’t have the energy to care. Arthur let out a shaky sigh and lowered himself down until he laid on his side on the floor amid the broken glass of the windows.

“Get out,” he breathed against the carpet. “Get out of my palace. And away from my thoughts. Those words… those words were meant for my king, and my king alone. You stole them. You stole… you stole me.”

Arthur began to curl up in the glass, and Alfred could almost see a fraction of blood welling up on his arms, but the sight was quick to be erased. The book in Alfred’s lap was slowly pushed shut by Arthur’s steady hands while Alfred’s own hands shook. How could one man be subjected to so much pain in his life? It was true, Arthur had been alive for a very long time, but there was too much grief, too much pain, too much… too much fear and sadness.

Alfred hiccupped sadly as tears blurred his view of the garden in front of him. Gracia was still tending to the flowers along the path, and the table was still filled with delicious food for Alfred to eat. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t hungry. His head hurt and his heart ached. He could still hear the way Arthur’s voice shook, and the way Francis tried to claim that rape wasn’t a crime if Arthur enjoyed it. It was real. And Arthur had been hurt.

“Alfred,” Arthur called to him softly as he pulled the book away from his husband’s slack grip. “Oh, my love… my darling, please don’t cry.”

“I get it,” Alfred said immediately as Arthur came to kneel before him. “I get why you don’t like him. I know that my being drunk was bad, but…” Alfred imagined the destruction Arthur had caused with his grief and closed his eyes tight. “But I think Francis deserves pain more than… more than I do.”

                Gentle, warm hands cupped Alfred’s cheeks, and calloused thumbs brushed at the trails of tears while fresh ones flowed. Opening his watery eyes, Alfred took a shuddering breath while Arthur smiled up at him sadly.

                “Yes,” Arthur agreed softly. “He does deserve it. But he is King of Diamonds, and will not be persecuted by his own people.”

                “We’ll persecute him here!” Alfred argued, slipping out of his chair to kneel eye-to-eye with Arthur. The Queen gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a crime. He should be punished. Rape is a crime, no matter who you are!”

                “Alfred –”

                “The next time I see that son of a bitch, I’m gonna –”

                Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred’s shoulders and pulled him close, halting his words and burying Alfred’s face in the crook of his neck. “It’s done,” he whispered. “I feel the sting of it every time I see him… I relive that memory each time I look at his eyes. I don’t need to you fight for me, Alfred. I just want you to understand why _I_ dislike him so that you can see him for who he really is. Now please,” Arthur passed a hand through Alfred’s hair while the King continued to sniffle softly. “Let us move on with our lives.”

                Alfred closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of lilacs on Arthur’s clothes and the faint hint of lemon he had with his tea. It was bittersweet, just like Arthur’s memories.

With a pounding head and a sore heart, Alfred turned his nose into Arthur’s throat and mumbled, “It wasn’t your fault. I wish it didn’t hurt.”

“So do I, my darling,” Arthur replied quietly, and Alfred could almost, _almost_ hear the smile in his voice when he finished with, “But ever since I met you… the sting doesn’t reach so deep.”

+++++

                “Are you kidding me? We have to go seen Francis _again_? In three weeks? We _just_ saw him!”

                Alfred threw an invitation to the Ball of Diamonds onto the small table in Arthur’s study, exasperated. Arthur gave him a look over the rim of his reading glasses.

                “Unfortunately, yes.” Arthur mumbled to his paperwork while Alfred gave an overdramatic groan. “Let us hope that you don’t drink quite as much at the Ball of Diamonds, hmm?”

                Alfred fell sideways on the sofa, knocking his glasses askew as he did so. “That was like… forever ago. Ludwig offered me a drink, and I didn’t have the balls to say ‘no.’ Let it _go_.”

                Arthur didn’t look up from a sheet of paper he was scribbling on while he spoke. “I simply cannot let it go. It’s amusing to watch you apologize for what you did in your drunken stupor.”

                Alfred squinted at his husband with blurry eyes. Without his glasses sitting properly on his face, Arthur’s outline was fuzzy and Alfred couldn’t quite see the shape of his thin-rimmed reading glasses.

                “You’re mean,” Alfred decided with a huff. Arthur breathed a laugh as he set one piece of paper aside. “You’re just a bully. You’re supposed to love me. You’re my husband.”

                “Ah, my loving you and my being your husband are two different things, darling.”

                Heaving a long exhale, Alfred rolled on the sofa so that he was lying on his back. Three had passed since the Ball of Hearts, and no time had been spared by the Queen of Spades. Although Alfred was granted one day-off for his horrifying hangover, the very next day was crammed full of fencing lessons and history lectures. Arthur had been talking about the treaties between the Card Kingdoms for almost three days, now… And Alfred was fried.

His muscles ached from swinging swords and running to dodge hand-to-hand blows, but there were no breaks. Alfred was taken from one side of the palace to the other, taught something about history by Arthur, sent back across the palace to train with the guards, measured for a new shirt – the sleeves were too short, now – fed a meal with Arthur, thrust back into training, and sent to dinner where he nearly fell asleep at the table. In conclusion, Alfred hadn’t had a very decent conversation with Arthur since the day after the ball.

Sighing again, Alfred look at Arthur under the rim of his glasses. “Arthur, can you come here?”

“Of course I can,” Arthur said lightly as he took off his reading glasses and set his papers aside. Only ten beautiful, smooth steps and he was kneeling next to the sofa and beside Alfred. He didn’t need any support to keep him upright, but he placed a gloved hand over Alfred’s heart nonetheless. “What is it, love?”

Blinking slowly, Alfred smiled at Arthur’s open expression. Even in repose, Arthur was a lovely person. His hair caught the light of the early summer sun just right, and it gave his face an angelic glow while his pale, pink lips held a smile. Alfred smiled wider.

“Will you kiss me?” He asked innocently, watching as Arthur’s eyelids fluttered quickly.

“Kiss… I… Of course!” Arthur laughed breathlessly before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Alfred’s.

The reaction was immediate; Alfred felt his heart flutter and his thoughts go a bit hazy. How long had it been since they’d last kissed? Since the ball? Three days? Alfred couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t kissed sooner. Ever since he and Arthur had gotten home, they were off and doing other things, having no time to seek each other out and steal a kiss. By the time Alfred normally fell into bed, Arthur was reading a book and Alfred didn’t have the energy to pull him away from it. Instead, he drowned in the soft, down blankets of their bed and fell asleep.

But now, laying on the sofa while Arthur gave him kiss after soft kiss, Alfred was beginning to realize just how much he enjoyed the intimacy they were allowed to share. Arthur’s deft hands slid back into his hair, and Alfred pivoted his head so that he could catch Arthur’s bottom lip between his teeth. Arthur gasped when Alfred’s hands snaked their way around his neck, and Alfred almost laughed at the sound. It was just so _perfect_. Like they were made to kiss each other. Alfred smiled at the thought.

They _were_ meant to kiss each other. According to Arthur’s gods and fate, the souls of the Kings and Queens of Card Kingdoms were bound together. They were meant to unconditionally support and love each other. Being with Arthur like this… it was what he was born to do. He was born to lead this Kingdom by Arthur’s side and protect the integrity of their Kingdom. He was born to hold Arthur close when his memories were too much and take his side when he was persecuted. Born to love and cherish him. Born to kiss Arthur just like that and sigh when Arthur’s tongue traced his upper lip. He was born to…

“Your Majesties?”

Arthur lurched back from Alfred, and Alfred blinked spastically as his heart pounded nervously. In the doorway, Fredrick stood with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Alfred swallowed nervously. They’d been _caught_. By Fredrick, no less. Crystal-cut shock was clear in Fredrick’s expression as Arthur placed a hand over his emerald eyes.

“I… I don’t…” Fredrick shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’m too young to understand. Too young. I’m not…” Alfred sat up quickly as Fredrick ran a small hand through his sandy-brown hair. “I’m so confused.”

“Confused?” Arthur repeated owlishly, lowering his hand from his eyes to give Fredrick a befuddled expression. “How so, dear boy?”

Fredrick opened his mouth, rethought it, and closed it with a frown. Alfred giggled quietly at the sight. The poor boy simply stared at the floor of the study as if the entire world had changed and he couldn’t quite keep up. In hindsight, Alfred should’ve opted to close the door before asking Arthur to bury him in physical affection. Sliding his legs off of the couch, Alfred raised his eyebrows and waited for Fredrick to answer while Arthur situated himself in his armchair.

“Well,” Fredrick began slowly, “I haven’t seen the two of you together for… days, it seems. And now –”

Alfred clapped his hands together loudly, causing both Fredrick and Arthur to flinch and stare at him. “It’s true love, Freddy. Even though we’re busy, we can’t stay away from each other for long.”

Fredrick narrowed his eyes while Arthur smiled and looked up at the ceiling.

“Is that how true love works?” Fredrick asked blandly. Alfred smiled slyly, and Arthur stood from his chair with an air of exasperation.

“No, Fredrick. Alfred is just babbling. It would do you well to ignore him. Now come along; why did you come to my study this afternoon?”

As Arthur began to usher Fredrick away from the door and toward his desk, Alfred sat back against the sofa with a smile. Despite so many bumps along the way – broken treaties, threats of war from Samuel’s army, Francis – Alfred was happy to see Arthur smiling. The dark circles under Arthur’s eyes had completely disappeared, leaving in its wake a healthy, youthful glow that became more pronounced when Arthur smiled down at Fredrick. Alfred felt his chest swell with pride; Arthur was finally happy. After one hundred years and countless hardships, Arthur was finally happy because he was with Alfred.

And Alfred… he was happy, too. Much happier than he’d ever felt in his life. He’d never loved anyone like he loved Arthur, and he didn’t care about the wellbeing of people in his hometown nearly as much as he cared about the citizens of Spades. Alfred closed his eyes and tried to remember a time when he still wanted to go back to his old dimension. It was only a week or two after his coronation that he began to forget looking for the card that could take him home. A few days more, he simply stopped wishing to go back. He didn’t want to leave. Spades was his home.

And Arthur was his husband; the person he loved more than anyone else in the world.

Alfred opened his eyes and looked at Arthur. He was only a few steps away, but he was closer to Alfred than anyone had ever been before. Alfred smiled at the thought.

“Arthur,” he called quietly, effectively interrupting whatever Arthur had been saying to Fredrick. Arthur turned away from Fredrick and gave Alfred his full attention. His green eyes – so kind, so full of life – watched Alfred with a kind of devotion that rattled Alfred’s soul and made his smile widen. “I love you.”

There was a beat of pause while Arthur took a slow, deep breath, and Fredrick gasped as if Alfred had said something illicit. Alfred didn’t mind. He was too young to understand what Alfred felt. Hell, Alfred was too young to properly put it all into words, so all he could say was that he loved Arthur. And Arthur… he smiled right back at his King.

“Oh, Alfred. I love you, too. More than I could possibly say.”


	14. Metus

                When Alfred was still in school in his old dimension, he’d proved to be a capable student, especially when it came to math. Numbers were Alfred’s expertise. Where his father was a genius where it came to physics, Alfred got his love for numbers from his mother. He always enjoyed calculating the outcomes and possibilities of things, the only reason he hadn’t earned 100 percent in his calculus class was the fact that he commonly shirked his homework.

                After Arthur had learned Alfred’s affinity for numbers, he was immediately set to work with Yao to calculate the proper rate of taxes and returns in Spades. So, on a rainy, summer evening five days after the Ball of Hearts, Alfred sat in the study staring at several documents while Arthur read a letter on the sofa.

                “I do want to help out more often, but this is ridiculous,” Alfred said with a scowl as he set aside a piece of paper that documented several trades and sales from farmers.

There were numbers scrawled across the papers in Alfred’s bland handwriting, and two hours of rewriting the same factors was beginning to get a little boring. On the sofa, Arthur sighed and turned over the letter he’d been reading, finishing the other side. Lightning flickered through the clouds outside and highlighted the dark, formidable outline of the sky. Alfred looked out the clear, glass doors of the balcony, seeing the sheets of rain that blurred his view of the garden as a roll of thunder rumbled past.

“I know the work is tedious,” Arthur murmured quietly as he removed his reading glasses and set the letter on the table. “But it needs to be done, and I trust you to complete the task.”

                Another flash of lightning illuminated the dreary, night sky, and Alfred yawned at the growling clouds.

                “Yeah, yeah…” Alfred looked over to see Arthur giving him a cross expression, and quickly corrected himself. “I mean, ‘yes.’ Anyway, it’s late. Can I just go to bed and finish it in the morning?”

                Arthur crossed his legs and sat back against the sofa cushions. “Alfred, you and I both know that it would be easier to finish it now.”

                “But I’m tired,” Alfred whined loudly, leaning forward and laying his head down on Arthur’s desk. “I just want to lay down… and kiss you…. And sleep…”

                There was a pause before Arthur finally muttered, “You cannot sleep and kiss me at the same time, Alfred.”

                Alfred frowned at the mahogany surface of Arthur’s desk. “Not with that attitude, I can’t.”

                “Come now,” Arthur said as he stood up and headed toward the door. “Finish that submission; I’ll be waiting for you.”

                Alfred sat up quickly, staring at Arthur intensely as he opened the door. “Waiting for me?”

                “Yes, waiting for you. In the bedroom,” Arthur said simply as he brushed his gloved fingers under his tired eyes. “I must admit that I’m tired as well. As for the letter I was reading…” he frowned and continued, “Well, I have to think about a few things, tonight.”

                Desperate to keep Arthur in the room with him, Alfred almost jumped out of the plush chair at the desk. “Thinking? About what? What was the letter about?”

                Arthur shook his head. “Finish the paperwork, love. I suppose I can tell you when you come to bed.”

                And with that, Arthur stepped out of the study and closed the door behind himself. The sound of his retreating footsteps was covered by an echoing rumble of thunder, and before Alfred could properly think, he was sitting down and scratching a quill pen across the paper at a frantic pace. He needed to finish so he could go to bed.

For the past five days, going to bed with Arthur was a treat in and of itself. After the Ball of Hearts, the attitude between the two of them had changed. The air around them became warm and welcoming. Though public displays of affection were generally disapproved of by Arthur, it only meant that they had to wait until they were safely behind closed doors to indulge themselves. Going to bed often involved Alfred and Arthur being tangled together atop the blankets, kissing each other as if their lived depended on it, and that didn't bother Alfred at all.

The only reason there was still a hint of hesitation between them was the fact that Alfred was afraid of pushing Arthur’s limits. Learning about his experience with Francis had left Alfred a little more than a bit worried for the Queen of Spades. Not to mention, Alfred didn’t have much experience with sexual encounters.

                So, every night when they went to bed, Alfred let Arthur take the lead. Alfred knew that Arthur had several decades of experience under his belt, so it was always a pleasurable time when Arthur kissed him senseless. More often than not, they would fall asleep before anything actually exciting could happen. With Arthur’s head resting on his chest and his perfect fingers knotted in Alfred’s hair, Alfred felt extremely comforted. So falling asleep each night without taking their relationship to the next level was just fine with Alfred – he was still nervous about what he was even supposed to _do_ with Arthur.

                Sure, he knew how sex worked. And God, Alfred knew that he _wanted_ to have sex with Arthur… he was just unsure of how to carry out the action. Who was going to be on top? As Alfred tapped the desk top with his thumb and wrote a seven-digit long number on the paper, he couldn’t help but think about how much more comfortable he’d be on top. More than anything, he was worried about how much it would hurt if he was the bottom… but, wouldn’t that be unfair to stick Arthur with that position? Alfred flipped over his piece of paper and bit his lip. What if Arthur… _liked_ being the top? Alfred didn’t want to force him into anything, but he didn’t want it to hurt.

                As Alfred opened the top drawer in Arthur’s desk and deposited the rest of his papers there, he reasoned that no matter which position he was going to be in, there would have to be a little pain involved. And, if Arthur was fine with that, Alfred really shouldn’t worry.

                “There you are,” Arthur greeted Alfred as he stepped into the bedroom slowly. His nightshirt collar was loose around his neck, and Alfred only glanced at his pale skin for a second before turning toward the wardrobe. Arthur glanced at him cautiously over the pages of his book. “You finished your work much faster than I thought you would.”

                Giving Arthur a garbled jumble of consonants as a response, Alfred reached down to his black boots and unfastened the buckle at the top of them so he could pull them off. Though Arthur didn’t reply, Alfred had a feeling that his lackluster response hadn’t satisfied the Queen. Alfred heard the windowpanes shudder and rattle as another blast of thunder tore through the sky, and he jumped just a bit as he fumbled with the buttons on his vest.

                There was the distinct sound of pages being turned as Arthur raised his voice a bit. It was more concerned than annoyed as he asked crisply, “Something wrong?”

                After he lifted his shirt over his head, Alfred threw a smile in Arthur’s direction. “Nope. Nothing wrong. I was just thinking about some stuff while I was working.”

                There was a pause as Arthur simply let his viridian irises work their way down Alfred’s torso. He had seen Alfred shirtless before, but no matter how many times Alfred pulled off his shirt, Arthur became slack jawed and speechless, staring in unabashed awe. While Arthur made his routine check of Alfred’s pectorals across the room – Alfred would swear that he never flexed, but surely Arthur would notice the truth – Alfred threw his shirt and vest into the laundry hamper.

                “Thinking?” Arthur asked when he finished his scan of Alfred’s tanned skin. “What were you thinking about?”

                Alfred quickly pulled down his tight trousers and stepped into the much more comfortable nightclothes. When he looked back at his husband, Arthur was studiously reading his book and not watching Alfred redress himself. Alfred smiled. The blush that stained Arthur’s cheeks was accentuated by the light of the oil lamp on his bedside table, and it only darkened when Alfred sat down on the bed next to him.

                “I was thinking about you,” Alfred answered smoothly while Arthur gave him an alarmed look. Alfred took of his glasses slowly, setting them on his bedside table quietly before he added, “And me.”

                “Oh dear,” Arthur breathed as he set his book on his bedside table with a frown. “Thinking about the two of us… sounds like a rather dangerous subject, my dear.”

                Pushing himself further onto the bed and closer to Arthur, Alfred cocked his head to the side and echoed Arthur. “Dangerous?”

                There was no pause as Arthur’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing Alfred back and into the pillows. The smell of lavender broke through the dizzying haze of Alfred’s thoughts, and while Arthur pressed a kiss to his bottom lip, Alfred found himself drowning in the scent that was specifically designed for Arthur. Behind his closed eyelids, the image of Arthur’s smile was still pasted there, in Alfred’s brain.

                “So very dangerous, my love,” Arthur explained slowly as he shifted to lay atop Alfred. “If you’re spending so much time thinking about the two of us, we’re obviously not spending enough time with each other.”

                Alfred swallowed thickly as he slid his hands up and along the curve of Arthur’s hips. Arthur shuddered softly and his eyes fluttered shut while Alfred felt his heartrate pick up.

                “Y-you’re really,” Alfred tried to speak, but Arthur captured his lips with a kiss before he could finish. Before he could stop himself, a soft sigh rose up from his lungs and washed across Arthur’s lips. Arthur pressed his smile to Alfred’s left cheek. “I mean, you’re really into this, tonight.”

                Arthur hummed a hollow note against Alfred’s cheek before he slid his hands down Alfred’s chest. A kiss was presented to the shell of Alfred’s ear, and Alfred gave a full-body jolt of surprise. Arthur had never kiss him like this before. It was always sweet and sultry kisses to his lips as Arthur’s hands caught in his hair... this was different, somehow. The air wasn’t sticky with sweetness; it was crisp and crackling with static electricity as one of Arthur’s hands slid around to the nape of Alfred’s neck while the other remained stationed atop his chest.

                Alfred bit his lip while Arthur continued to ravish his neck in kisses. The hands on Arthur’s hips were trembling, and Alfred’s head was spinning. Arthur had never been this eager before. Not that it bothered Alfred. He was just worried about the way they were supposed to be together. And the fact that he didn’t know what Arthur liked and disliked was a bit unnerving.

                Trying to hide the fact that he didn’t know what to do, Alfred took Arthur’s face in his hands and moved him so that he could properly kiss his husband. If Alfred was busy following his instincts and absorbing the moment, he wouldn’t have time to think. His heartbeat was rushing in his ears, and a flood of hormones surged through his blood as Arthur gasped and tugged gently at his hair. Primal instincts took the place of coherent thought, and Alfred was happy that it did. It was easier to let his trembling hands go underneath the hem of Arthur’s nightshirt and slide across his lower back naturally rather than think hard about what he was supposed to do next.

                From the way Arthur arched his back and moaned, Alfred guessed that his instincts were well followed. Alfred didn’t try to think as Arthur kissed him once, twice, then thrice more, each time harder than the last. It was like he was trying to prove something, though Alfred didn’t quite know what. Alfred took each rough kiss in stride, leaving the imprints of his fingertips in the small of Arthur’s back while he absently bit Arthur’s bottom lip.

                The entire experience was more arousing than anything Alfred had ever imagined. None of his dreams had prepared him for the ache he felt with Arthur, nor did they feel as intense. Every breath Alfred tried to take was stolen by Arthur, and Alfred stole just as many kisses in return. His cock throbbed in his trousers, and the only relief was granted was the top of Arthur’s thigh as the Queen moved closer. The friction from Arthur’s leg was good, but it wasn’t nearly _enough_.

                Bucking his hips up and against Arthur’s leg, Alfred struggled to focus. What was he trying to do? What had he been worried about before? Laughter washed over the side of Alfred’s neck as Arthur ground his leg down against Alfred’s stiff arousal. Alfred grunted and opened his eyes to see lightning illuminate the room. Everything he'd been worried about earlier seemed trivial, now. He didn't need to worry... at least, Alfred hoped so. Before Alfred had a chance to work himself up again, Arthur sat up and took his attention. Alfred blinked at the slightly blurry sight of Arthur’s lips – almost a bruised pink – and his heavy-lidded stare.

                Alfred licked his lips nervously. “Arthur, I’ve never…” Alfred grunted as Arthur rocked back and rubbed his leg against Alfred’s erection. Closing his eyes, Alfred tried to go back on everything he’d talked himself into; he needed to think. He needed to fight his instincts, just for a second. “Ah… Arthur, I’ve never done this before.”

                Waiting for a response, Alfred held perfectly still, like a deer caught in the headlights. Arthur sat still with his hands braced warmly on Alfred's shoulders, unmoving and quiet. And for several long seconds, Arthur simply stared down at Alfred with a look of utter surprise. When he moved again, he didn’t lower himself down to kiss Alfred or to get out of bed. Instead, he sat back and straddled Alfred, resting his soft hands against Alfred's chest.

                “You...” Arthur narrowed his eyes at Alfred’s anxious visage. “You haven’t… ever?” Alfred shook his head ‘no,’ and Arthur’s expression became more confused, as if the idea was a strange one. “Why?”

                “Why… Why didn’t I?” Alfred asked, taken back by the question. It was a good one… why _hadn’t_ he had sex before? He was nineteen. A young man and not getting any younger. His stupid teenage hormones were supposed to fuel a healthy sex drive, so why hadn’t he lost his virginity, yet? “I… I dunno,” Alfred said honestly with a loose shrug. His erection was starting to hurt with the way Arthur was sitting on it. Alfred tried to finish his statement to distract himself from the pain. “I guess it just didn’t feel right. Like, no matter who I went out with, I just didn’t feel it, ya know?”

                Arthur made a face that said he didn’t know, but Alfred didn’t try explaining it further. He really didn’t know why he didn’t go out and have that kind of fun… he just didn’t feel like it was right. Maybe it was fate that he saved himself for Arthur. But if that was the case, why didn’t Arthur wait for Alfred? Alfred tapped his index finger against Alfred’s chest as if he was thinking about something very intensely, and Alfred wriggled his hips beneath Arthur uncomfortably.

                “Were you afraid of the pain?” Arthur inquired softly, putting his weight onto his palms as he leaned forward to gauge Alfred's reaction. “Or were you worried about your chosen lover?”

                Alfred huffed. “No. I wasn’t. I just… I didn’t feel like having sex with strangers all willy-nilly, all right?”

                When Arthur sat back to think about that information, Alfred threw his head back against the pillows. His arousal wasn’t going away anytime soon, not with the way he could feel the curve of Arthur’s butt against him, and definitely not with the way Alfred could see Arthur’s own erection tenting his trousers. Arthur didn’t mind it, though. He wetted his lips with his tongue and took a deep breath before finally speaking.

                “So, you’re saying that you chose to keep your virtue for a better choice of mate whereas I… as you so eloquently put it, ‘had sex with strangers all… willy-nilly.’”

                Alfred squirmed and rolled his hips up against Arthur impatiently. “I’m not saying that having sex is bad or anything... I’m just saying my preferences are different from yours. Besides, you waited for me a lot longer than I waited for you. But now we’re together, so…”

                “So you just didn't want do make love to anyone?” Arthur echoed, pivoting his hips forward just a bit before rolling back against Alfred. The moan that followed that action should have embarrassed Alfred, but he was far too pleased with himself to care. He put his hands on Arthur’s hips and gripped them hard while Arthur repeated the movement. “You've waited all this time?” Arthur asked breathlessly as his fingernails scraped down Alfred’s abdomen through his nightshirt.

                Alfred screwed his eyes shut and tried to think about what Arthur was saying. "Yeah, I just... didn't feel like it was right. Didn't find the right person, you know? I mean, not everybody cares that much about it. Everyone… has their own preference and… oh my god,” Alfred’s jaw dropped as Arthur bent forward and pulled at the collar of his shirt to press a kiss to his exposed throat. Reigning himself in, Alfred licked his lips and continued. “And I don’t have any right to judge. No one does. I’m just saying... that I didn’t…” Arthur moaned against the sweaty skin of Alfred’s chest, and Alfred lost his train of thought momentarily. “Um, I didn’t want to have sex, yet. I just wanted you to know… you’ll be… my first.”

                As Arthur took a breath, Alfred felt his small smile against his skin. Sitting up slightly, Arthur’s hands cupped Alfred’s cheeks, and his thumbs brushed against Alfred’s cheeks softly. Arthur did that often, Alfred realized absently. He would cup Alfred's cheeks and hold him in place, as if he was afraid Alfred would lose interest in him if he didn't keep him focused. Maybe he could kiss those idle worries away... he'd never lose interest in Arthur. Closing his eyes, Alfred hiked up his chin and kissed his husband, feeling a little bit better about himself when Arthur smiled against his lips. 

                Arthur sat back and murmured, “Well then, I’m honored to be the first person you make love to, Alfred.”

                Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but there was a knock at the bedroom door. It was a bout of short, panicked rapping that made Alfred hold his breath. No. It wasn’t fair. They were so close… so close! Alfred didn’t want to be interrupted _now_. Maybe it was his imagination, and the knocking as all in his head. Perhaps he was just distracting himself from the inevitable awkwardness of his first time.

But when Arthur froze in place with his hands on Alfred’s cheeks, Alfred knew it wasn’t in his head. Arthur had heard it, too. His emerald eyes closed tight and his body stiffened like a coiled spring that was one wind away from snapping.

                “Perhaps if we’re quiet enough,” Arthur breathed, “Whoever it may be will think we’re asleep, and they will _go away_.”

                “Good plan,” Alfred whispered back with a smile. It was the most childish and adorable thing he’d ever heard Arthur say.

                They both held still for a few seconds that stretched into long hours. With their chests pressed together, Alfred could feel their heartbeats racing in tandem, each beat chasing the last one. Alfred closed his eyes and let the feeling consume him. Each beat of his heart was followed by Arthur’s, following each other endlessly as they waited with bated breath. They were linked by fate and magic and whatever gods Arthur believed in, but Alfred found it romantic that even their heartbeats followed each other at a steady pace, not overlapping.

                It was a very romantic thought. Alfred knew that it was. It was also a shame that it had to be interrupted by more fervent knocking.

                Arthur huffed and grumbled angrily as he sat up and rolled away from Alfred. “I swear,” he growled as he pulled one of the blankets up to cover the bulge in his trousers. Alfred followed suit as Arthur continued with, “The bloody palace had better be on fire. Who is it?”

                “Your Majesty,” Yao called nervously, “I’ve… there’s… it’s terrible, Your Highness. You need to see this.”

                Arthur sat up ramrod straight in bed as both he and Alfred looked at the door anxiously. All heat from only a few minutes ago was already beginning to fade in wake of recent events, and Alfred couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed. Yao, one of the most serene people he’d ever met, sounded terrified.

                “What is it, Yao?” Arthur asked as he slid out of bed and quickly moved to the door. Alfred was on his heels immediately, hearing the windows rattle as thunder cracked through the sky and shook the window frames. Paying the storm no heed, Arthur opened the door and gasped. “Good gods, Yao… what happened to you?”

                Lightning needed to flicker through the windows before Alfred could see Yao properly without his glasses. The Jack of Spades stood in their doorway, soaked to the bone from rain with the most miserable expression on his face. As Arthur stumbled away to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to dry him off, Yao simply watched the floor with a hollow stare.

                Alfred opened the bedroom door wider, welcoming the shaken man. “Yao, seriously. Come in, sit down somewhere. What happened to you? What’s wrong?”

                Yao shuffled forward into the room a few steps. His long sleeves dripped onto the carpet, and Yao’s long, chestnut hair hung in front of his eyes as he stared down at the floor. Alfred shook his shoulder a bit, only to get a wounded look from Yao in response.

                When Arthur returned with a towel in hand, his mouth was set in a dark frown as he marched to Yao and began furiously scrubbing the towel over Yao’s shoulders. Yao didn’t seem to notice as he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper that was sopping wet. Thunder clapped through the sky and the windows shook, but Alfred didn’t dare to look away from the paper. Arthur paused his ministrations to wrap the towel around Yao’s shoulders and slowly, gently, take the paper from Yao’s slightly trembling hand.

                “Yao?” Alfred asked quietly as Arthur took the paper over to the small desk at the side of the room. Putting his arm around Yao’s shoulders, Alfred steered him toward the bed. “Why don’t you sit down? I think I’ve seen this on TV. Are you in shock?”

                Yao made a perplexed face at the question as he was sat down atop the blankets, and Alfred looked over his shoulder at Arthur. He was at the desk, meticulously unfolding the wet paper so it wouldn’t tear. Looking back at Yao, Alfred reached for his glasses on the bedside table and pushed them onto his face.

                “Yao, buddy, you need to say something. This isn’t you…” Yao blinked slowly at the statement, and Alfred continued. “You’re freaked out, right now. I get that. I’ve been scared before, too. But, the thing is, Arthur was there to help me, so…”

                “Is this true?” Arthur asked quickly, wide-eyed and scanning the paper furiously. Alfred looked back at Arthur anxiously as Yao raised his head to hopelessly stare at him. “Yao, this… this can’t be true. It’s some kind of… untasteful jest. I feel that I’d know if it were true.”

                While Yao contemplated his answer, Alfred pushed away from the bed to stand behind Arthur and try reading over his shoulder. The words were blurred and running together, but apparently Arthur could read it. The only words Alfred _could_ read were ‘Western’ and ‘fire.’

                Alfred frowned and leaned forward against Arthur’s back, squinting at the paper. “Something in the West in on fire?”

                “The entire town,” Yao breathed from across the room, staring at Arthur with unseeing eyes. Alfred shivered at the unsettling sight. “Raided and set on fire. Samuel’s men stormed the border and broke our defenses…” Taking a shuddering breath, Yao pulled the towel tighter around himself. “In short, he has begun his attack on Spades. At this moment, his forces are branching across the Western plains.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide. The great nephew of Arthur’s first husband was attacking Spades. After taking away several of their allies in the Outlands and threatening war for years, Samuel was actually attacking Spades. Looking to Arthur, Alfred watched anxiously as the Queen of Spades stood over the letter with an unreadable expression.

                “Yao, I know that you had family in that village. Your nephew… Leon, wasn’t it?” Yao didn’t respond beyond pulling the towel from his shoulders and burying his face in the soft cotton. Arthur traced his finger along the washed-out words on the paper. “I’m very sorry, Yao.”

                Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but he had no idea what to say to someone who just lost a family member. When Alfred’s own grandmother had died, he’d locked himself in his room for the duration of the wake, not wanting to talk to anyone. He loved his grandmother. And with the way Yao was behaving, Alfred could see that he obviously loved his nephew, Leon, very much. So, with a heavy heart, Alfred turned away from Yao and looked at Arthur’s conflicted expression.

                “Arthur?” He asked quietly, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, hoping to be supportive.

                Arthur leaned back, and Alfred happily wrapped an arm around Arthur, holding him against his chest. When Arthur finally spoke, it was in hushed, broken tones that made Alfred scowl.

                “As of now,” Arthur murmured, “Spades is at war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leon is Leon Wang. (Hong Kong)  
> May I just add that I bear Leon and Francis no ill will. I love the two of them and they are great guys.  
> The story just went in those directions. Thank you.


	15. Acquiesco

                Silence had never crept up on Alfred before he had come to Spades. He’d never felt trapped by fear, and he was never barricaded inside his room to avoid the imminent task of facing his own worry. Before he had come to Spades, he’d been able to distract himself with games, videos and music. He had been able to push away unwanted thoughts by getting out of the house and running along the streets of his suburban town aimlessly. He could stave off the oncoming silence that accompanied fear… But not anymore.

                Alfred laid on a sofa somewhere on the East side of the palace. He had tried to hide himself from silence and worry; he’d even run from Arthur, the most calming presence in his life. He left his husband in his study to write urgent letters and requests while he ran away. As Alfred stared out a pair of open doors that showed Annie and another young girl hanging laundry, he wonder what he was running from… Was he running from the violent silence that made his chest ache, or was he running away from being King?

                Outside, Annie laughed cheerfully at something the brunette girl had said to her in passing. They had no idea the kingdom was in danger, and they had no idea that a town had just been burned to the ground. Their minds were void of any guilt or fear. Closing his eyes, Alfred wished he could feel that bliss. He didn’t want to be afraid. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to go back to the study and help Arthur. He wanted to… but he just couldn’t.

                “Your Highness?”

A familiar voice. Much too young to be Arthur. The accent was a bit rougher for one… and Arthur never called him ‘Highness.’ Alfred struggled to paste a fake smile onto his face as he opened his eyes.

“Freddy,” he greeted the young boy. Fredrick stood next to the sofa that faced the open doors, holding a large wicker basket in his arms. Fredrick bowed slightly, giving Alfred a strange look.

“What brings you to this side of the palace, Sire?”

Alfred blinked slowly. “Um. Change of scenery.” A lie. He just didn’t want to see the confliction in Arthur’s eyes. He didn’t want to feel the icy prickle of fear running down his spine. He didn’t want to look at the dead glint in Yao’s eyes. He simply couldn’t. It was all too much.

“Is that so?” Fredrick murmured, disbelieving. He shifted the basket in his arms, lifting it up with an almost inaudible, “hup.”

Frowning, Alfred discovered that Arthur’s scowl was pasted on the back of his eyelids. Yao’s broken sob rang in his ears, and the crack of thunder was stuck on repeat. With a sharp inhale, Alfred opened his eyes and shook his head. He needed to distract himself. But he had no iPod to plug in, and he had run across the palace three times already. He could go outside the gates, but he knew that he’d get lost. That would only cause trouble for Arthur.

                “Are you all right?” Alfred watched Fredrick put down the wicker basket that was filled with linen next to the open doors. His sandy brown hair shone a near golden color with the summer sun as he leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees, giving Alfred a hard stare. Alfred nearly shrunk away from that stare. It was too innocent, too unafraid… it was a venomous sort of kindness. “Should I call for the Queen?”

                “No,” Alfred replied quickly. Too quickly. Fredrick visibly recoiled at the sharp response, and Alfred sat up with another fake smile. If he could just act refreshed and renewed, he wouldn’t worry Fredrick, and the fearful, fitful silence wouldn’t be transferred to the young boy. “No, I’m fine. Whatcha up to? Playing a game with all those sheets?”

                Fredrick’s eyelids fluttered as he gave Alfred a strange look. “Laundry. I’m doing the laundry, Your Highness,” he stood up straight and jerked his thumb toward the women currently pulling down several pairs of trousers from a clothesline. “I’ve brought it out to hang it up and bring in the dry things to be folded.”

                Alfred’s cheeks started to hurt as he continued to force a smile. “That sounds like fun.”

                Narrowing his eyes, Fredrick nodded once. “Yes… I suppose it could be.”

                Several long seconds drifted by as Fredrick stood awkwardly by the doors, glancing back at the linen almost wistfully. Alfred raised an eyebrow as his fake smile cracked. Was he waiting to be dismissed? Was he allowed to dismiss Fredrick? He wasn’t given the opportunity to try as Annie and the young girl – was that Diana? Alfred couldn’t remember – picked up their own baskets and walked through the doors, into the palace.

                “The lines are all yours, Fredrick,” Annie said as she toted a basket of freshly folded laundry away. She only paused next to the sofa to bow her head again to Alfred. “Your Highness... take a nice rest, did we? The life of royalty is a vigorous one.”

                Alfred tried to laugh at the jab, but couldn’t find it in himself to pull the sound from his lungs. Instead, he settled on smiling blandly while Annie and her companion left the small sitting room to disperse the fresh laundry throughout the palace.

                For a moment, Alfred sat on the sofa quietly, tapping the tops of his thighs as Fredrick took a deep breath and sighed. It felt wrong. He was _always_ able to talk to Fredrick, and the boy had always been eager to share a conversation, but after the whole commotion with Spades officially being attacked only twelve short hours ago, Alfred couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t tell Fredrick about the war… not until Arthur decided it was time to tell everyone. But how long would that be? When was it time to tell their citizens that people were dying and there was virtually nothing they could do without possibly sacrificing more lives?

                “Well,” Fredrick breathed, clasping his hands together and bowing low at the waist. “I should probably get to work on the –”

                “Wait, Freddy,” Alfred interrupted quickly. If he could just keep Fredrick talking – it didn’t matter what he spoke about – he could keep away the silence that threatened to swallow him whole. “Sit down for a second. I want to… to talk to you about something.”

                Alfred patted the sofa cushion next to him, and Fredrick slowly trudged toward the sofa and lowered himself down onto the plush seat cautiously.

                “If this is about what I saw in the study the other day, I just want to apologize to you, again. I should have knocked… if I’d known that the two of you were in… such a…”

                Fredrick trailed off while the tips of his ears and his cheeks burned a bright crimson. Alfred coughed a laugh, surprised by the fact that Fredrick would bring that up.

                “It’s not that, Fredrick. You’re fine.”

                Fredrick’s small fingers plucked at the sides of his grey trousers, mindful of the dull, brass buttons that lined his thighs. Pursing his lips, the young palace worker gave Alfred a sidelong glance.

                “Then… what is it you want to talk about, sir?”

                Alfred looked to the open doors, blinking at the sharp sunlight that stained the grey marble floors a warm, topaz hue. What _did_ he want to talk about? He couldn’t talk to Fredrick about Samuel’s army storming the western border, and he definitely couldn’t ask for man-to-man advice about his romance with Arthur… Well, if he couldn’t talk about what was going on in his life, he’d ask Fredrick about his own life.

                Alfred reached up a hand to straighten his glasses before he refreshed his smile. “Let’s talk about _you_ , Freddy.”

                “Me?” Fredrick’s light brown eyebrows raised up, creating tiny wrinkles on his forehead. “Why me? What do you want to know about me?” There was a pause before Fredrick leaned back a bit and raised his hands in surrender. “I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear!”

                Letting out a laugh, Alfred shook his head. “I know you didn’t. I just want to talk to you for a minute. I’ve been here for a long time, and we’ve talked for a while, but I don’t know much about you.” Sitting back against the cushions, Alfred folded his hands together and put them in his lap as he looked at Fredrick expectantly. “So, Freddy. What’s up with your life?”

                Fredrick made a sour face. “My life? Well… I believe that it’s…” Pursing his lips, Fredrick thought about the answer for a while. “It’s only just begun? I’m… getting taller, so I suppose that I’m happy about that. I’m almost as tall as Cherche, you see. That’s important,” there was a look of determination on Fredrick’s face as he finished with, “I want to be just as tall as Cherche.”

                Alfred smiled. Fredrick was so innocent and easy to talk to… height was the biggest issue in his life. No threat of war frightened him, and no dark past threatened to drown his lover in sorrow. He was simply worried about being as tall as the girl who groomed the horses. Giving Fredrick a soft, playful punch in the shoulder, Alfred smiled wider.

                “You want to be as tall as Cherche, huh? Sounds interesting…” Alfred winked at Fredrick. “You like Cherche, right?” While Fredrick’s cheeks started to flare a bright red, Alfred nodded to himself and continue, “Yeah, I’ve seen it. You spend a lot of time with her. I’ve noticed.”

                “That’s… she’s my best friend, Sire! Of… Of course I spend time with her.”

                Nodding again, Alfred gave Fredrick another fond smile. “I’m just joshin’ you,” a confused look from Fredrick, and Alfred tried again. “I mean, I’m pulling your leg.” There was vague recognition with that one, and Alfred rolled his eyes. “It was a joke.”

                “I know what it means to ‘pull your leg,’ Your Majesty,” Fredrick smiled as he stood up and retrieved his wicker basket. “And I understand that you’re want to speak to me, but… I feel that your loneliness can be cured more effectively by the Queen…” A wider smile from Fredrick showed Alfred two rows of straight teeth, and Fredrick’s rosy cheeks glowed in the luminescent rays of sun that poured through the glass of the doors. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

                Alfred frowned. Fredrick probably _was_ right; he needed a little comfort. There was so much going on in his life. Sure, if there was a war going on in his old dimension – not his home, anymore – he probably would have wanted to help. When he turned eighteen, he was legally required to enter his name into the draft for war… but now, in Spades, Alfred had no idea what he could do to help. He felt like an outsider when he was supposed to feel like a leader. Maybe Fredrick was right… Arthur was probably the only person who could help him feel included.

                If only Alfred hadn’t run away from him earlier that morning.

                Now, sitting on the sofa with a sour expression as Fredrick stepped outside to hang the damp laundry, Alfred felt incredible useless. He was King of Spades, and as such, he should be doing something to help his Queen and his people. Not to mention Yao had lost a family member... Alfred mused that he was most likely heartbroken. The Ball of Diamonds was in two weeks, and Alfred and Arthur were both required to attend. There were several things to be dealt with, and several people to comfort, and what had Alfred done? He’d run to the other side of the palace and hidden from it all.

                Pushing himself up and off of the couch, Alfred walked outside and stood next to Fredrick by the clothesline, pulling a small, linen shirt from the basket and pinching them to the line with a clothespin. Fredrick paused in his routine, giving Alfred a horrified look, but didn’t dare question Alfred as he continued to hang the laundry with a stern expression.

                “You’re right, Freddy,” Alfred muttered after several minutes had passed. Fredrick held a purple pillowcase close to his chest as he looked up to Alfred questioningly. Alfred felt his expression melt down into something even less personable. “Arthur really does know best. I should be with him, right now.”

                Fredrick hummed and shook out the pillowcase in his hands. “Yes… that might be good.”

                “Arthur knows best.” Alfred repeated stiffly.

                “He’s a smart man, sir,” Fredrick hung the pillowcase and dipped his hand back into the hamper. “Just as I’m sure you are as well. You should be with him,” he stated softly as he threw one end of a shirt over the clothesline. “Why wouldn’t you want to be with him on his birthday?”

                Pausing for a moment, Alfred let Fredrick’s words sink in slowly. It was said so quietly, Alfred could’ve almost believed that he was making it up. Fredrick continued shaking out the moist clothes before hanging them up, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. It couldn’t be Arthur’s birthday. He would have said something if it was his birthday… wouldn’t he?

                Alfred bent over and reached out blindly for another article of clothing in the basket, trying to wrap his head around the fact that it was his husband’s birthday.

                “Birthday?” Alfred repeated disbelievingly as he clipped a pair of trousers to the line. “You mean… today, April 23rd, is Arthur’s birthday?”

                Fredrick nodded. “Yes. Didn’t he tell you?”

                “No,” Alfred frowned, feeling his heart ache a little bit at the thought of Arthur hiding something so simple. Why wouldn’t he mention his birthday? “No, he didn’t.”

                Halting his process of hanging the wet laundry, Fredrick gave Alfred a strange look. “Is that so? Well, that does make sense… he doesn’t make much of a point to celebrate his birthday, anyway.”

                This struck a curious chord within Alfred, and he stepped closer to Fredrick. “Really? Why not? Did he tell you?”

                “Well, when I was little… I think I remember… he told me that the day of his birth was of no consequence,” Fredrick squinted at the wicker basket at his feet. “I’m fairly sure it has something to do with his mother.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, and Fredrick took this as a cue to continue.

“When I was six years old, the Queen brought me here to live. I used to live in a small village called South Caltan with my father, but he was…” Fredrick made a sour face. “He was a very… violent man. The Queen witnessed his,” a pause, “Violence… and brought me here, to the palace.”

Alfred nodded. “That sounds like something Arthur would do… but what does that have to do with his birthday and his mom?”

Fredrick held up his hands in surrender. “I was almost there, Your Highness. As you can expect, the Queen didn’t have much time to raise me, so he took me to Annie –”

“Annie? Annie who passed us just a minute ago?”

A smile from Fredrick. “Yes, that Annie. She was… well, she was the mother I never got to have. And I thank her for that.” Fredrick laced his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs. “Now, about the Queen’s birthday… I remember it was sunny. Four years ago, to the day. The Queen was having tea on the terrace. Annie told me that it was his birthday,” Fredrick took a shaky breath as his expression took a dark turn. Pivoting his head, Alfred saw a regretful glint in his grey eyes. “So… I thought I would give him a flower. Everyone knows how much he loves flowers.

“But I… I hadn’t even reached the stone walkway of the garden before I saw a woman standing on the terrace with the Queen. I’d never seen her before.” Fredrick squeezed his eyes shut, as if the memory was almost painful to recall. “She… she was yelling at him, Your Highness. Telling him that he should have _never_ been born… and that… someone named Julie should have been Queen of Spades.”

Alfred felt his heart pound anxiously. “Julie? Did she really say Julie?”

“I… I can’t remember… I was scared. I think the Queen was scared, as well. He was so pale…”

Putting his hands on Fredrick’s shoulders, Alfred gave the young boy a careful look over the rim of his glasses. “Fredrick. I need you to think. Did she say ‘Julie,’ or did she say ‘Juliana?’”

Fredrick lifted his eyes from his wicker basket to give Alfred a desperate glance. “I… she may have. Who’s Juliana?” Fredrick put his hands on top of Alfred’s as they sat on his shoulders. “What does she have to do with the Queen and his mother?”

Alfred blinked. “Nothing. She has nothing to do with this,” he lied, ruffling Fredrick’s hair with his right hand. “Don’t cry, buddy. It’s okay. I just wanted to know for certain what she said.”

Fredrick sniffed crossly. “I wasn’t going to cry.”

“Of course not,” Alfred nodded slowly as he stood up straight and tugged at the bottom of his vest to straighten it. “Thanks, Freddy. I guess I know why he doesn’t like birthdays.”

“Oh, he likes birthdays,” Fredrick retorted before Alfred had a chance to turn away. “On anyone else’s birthday, he makes a point to celebrate with them and make them feel special. He simply doesn’t like his own birthday.”

                Pursing his lips, Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and sauntered towards the glass doors that would lead him back into the palace.

                “Well,” he said loudly, turning back to smile at Fredrick through the fabric windows that shifted in the wind. “I think it’s going to be my job to change his mind.”

+++++

                By the time Alfred made his way to the study to retrieve Arthur for dinner, it was early evening, and the sun was already dipping low on the horizon. He’d been planning with several chefs – Rosaline, the head chef in particular – and different palace workers to set up a peaceful dinner for Arthur. If he was going to do anything special for Arthur, he wanted it to be relaxed and comfortable. Arthur needed to relax; the stress of the war and pressure from losing allies was definitely weighing down on him. So, Alfred was happy to set up a dinner especially for Arthur.

Upon entering the study, Alfred could feel tension slam into him with a force. It wasn’t as powerful as, say, Arthur’s wall of magic barreling into him, but it was definitely enough to make him pause in his progression towards Arthur. He was going to give Arthur a romantic birthday dinner, whether Arthur wanted one or not. It would be special. It would be sweet. And, somehow, he would pull one good thing together out of a very, _very_ bad situation.

                As expected, Arthur was sitting at his desk, bent over a piece of paper. To Alfred’s surprise, it was blank, say for a small blot of ink that stained the cream-colored stationary. Arthur’s green eyes seemed glued to that blot, as if it had personally wronged him. And as he sat, head down and silent, his hands gripped at the roots of his hair hard enough to pull the strands from his head.

                The fear of war was really getting to him. Hell, the fear of war was getting to Alfred. He’d never been in a war, but what he’d heard in dozens of history classes and several lectures on World War 2, it had been beyond devastating. Which was why a birthday celebration might lighten the mood… or so Alfred hoped.

                Rapping his knuckles against the oak door, Alfred closed the door behind himself. “Hey, Arthur… how’s it going?”

                Arthur didn’t raise his head. “Hello, Alfred.”

                Stepping closer to the desk, Alfred swung his arms at his sides and admired Arthur’s attire. All black. From his dark, billowing shirt, to his trousers, Arthur was covered in black. No crisp white gloves adorned his hands, today. Alfred noticed that since they had confessed to one another, he’d been wearing them less and less. As for the black, Alfred mused it had something to do with mourning the deaths of countless lives. Looking down at himself, Alfred frowned at the light blue vest and navy trousers he wore. He should’ve worn black, as well. At least to be respectful.

                Lifting his eyes to the desk, Alfred tried to smile at his distraught husband. “I bet you’re working really hard… but you know what would be great? Taking a _break_.” Alfred paused, but Arthur didn’t move. “You need to get out of here. Maybe just for a few minutes. Sit down with me, eat something… talk to me, maybe? That would be good.”

                Still, Arthur refused to look up. “I’ve no time to… as you put it, ‘take a break.’”

                Alfred felt his lips turn down in a frown. Arthur was motionless, say for his lips. He didn’t _look_ busy, nor did he act as if he was thinking about something urgent. He simply sat at his desk with his fingers caught in his hair and his eyes staring senselessly at a blank sheet of paper.

                “Well, what’re you doing?”

                Arthur’s stiff frame tilted three degrees to the left, only to straighten back to its former rigidity after a few seconds. Alfred raised an eyebrow as he watched the movement. Was Arthur falling asleep? Arthur cleared his throat and regained Alfred’s attention.

                “I’m waiting.”

                Nodding slowly, Alfred tried to understand. Waiting was a difficult thing to do, especially when there were possibly thousands of lives on the line. A distraction would do Arthur good. Waiting in complete silence never did anyone any good; Alfred’s previous state of monachopsis.

                Trying to crack the crust of the stiff atmosphere, Alfred leaned forward and pressed the palms of his hands against Arthur’s desk. Arthur didn’t move.

                “Waiting for replies?” Alfred asked blandly even though he knew the answer.

                “Yes,” Arthur breathed as his eyes fluttered shut. “Waiting for replies.”

                Alfred nodded to himself, looking around the room aimlessly. “Cool, cool… You know what?” Arthur didn’t say anything, so Alfred simply kept talking. “It’s almost time for dinner.” Another pause, but Arthur still didn’t speak. “So, I was thinking… You could stop sitting and waiting for our allies to respond, and have some dinner with me.”

                “Not hungry.” Arthur grunted.

                “Arthur, please –”

                “No, Alfred. I’m not hungry. No matter how much you ask. No matter how many pretty compliments and petty complaints you toss in my direction, I will _still_ say no.” Arthur finally stood up from his desk, marching around the side of it and coming to a stop in front of the doors that led to the balcony. “Take my words and leave quietly.”

                Alfred scowled, leaning away from the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s a little harsh. What’s wrong with you?”

                Arthur spun on his heel to set Alfred with the darkest glare Alfred had ever seen. Alfred felt himself shrink into himself and take a step back. Arthur had never looked at him like that before.

                “What is _wrong_? Alfred, do you know what is happening to my home?”

                “I get it. There’s a war, and –”

                Arthur held a silencing hand up to Alfred. “Oh, good heavens, no. You don’t get it. You do _not_ understand. At least one hundred people in my kingdom are dead,” Arthur took a shuddering breath as he turned his glare to the floor. “And I didn’t even know to warn them. I should have known. I should have been able to feel the inconstancies of magic when Samuel’s men entered Spades, but I…” Arthur shook his head violently enough for Alfred to worry about whiplash. “I didn’t know! I should have known, but I didn’t!”

                Alfred nodded once, stepping toward Arthur with open arms. “And that’s why you’re mad? Because you couldn’t save them? Arthur, it was an ambush. Yao said so… you couldn’t have saved them. No one could. It was a surprise attack. We couldn’t be ready for that.”

                Arthur ignored Alfred’s open arms in favor of the carpet, taking another shaking breath as he went on, “Because I didn’t know, those people are dead. Because I didn’t properly repair our military, we can’t fight back! Now Samuel and his army have retreated back into the Outlands, and we don’t know where they’ll strike next!”

                “Arthur, calm down –”

                “I can’t calm down, Alfred! You don’t understand!” Arthur waved his hands in the air blindly, either trying to feel out the roughness of the air or reaching for something to support him. Alfred stepped forward and took Arthur’s shaking hands, holding him steady while Arthur continued to speak in feverish tones. “It’s all _my_ fault, Alfred. I was too distracted by my own selfish desires to sense the change in magic. I’m the reason those people are dead.”

                Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Distracted? What –”

                Arthur gave Alfred a sharp look. “We were two seconds away from ravishing each other Alfred. I shouldn’t have let my desires get in the way of the safety of the Kingdom,” Arthur pried his hands away from Alfred’s and proceeded to stalk around the room like an irritated cat. “If I hadn’t been so swept up in those emotions… If I hadn’t been so focused on what I wanted… What I wanted to give you… Alfred, those people might still be alive.”

                With a frustrated huff, Alfred sat down in the armchair, watching Arthur pace the floor anxiously. “True, we were about to have sex. But I think it was just bad timing, Arthur. Samuel is to blame. You can’t blame yourself for the actions of a crazy person. Or maybe the guards on that are supposed to patrol the borders are to blame. Shouldn’t they be watching for an attack like this?”

                Arthur shook his head as he turned on his heel and continued pacing. “My fault. It’s _my_ fault.”

                “Arthur, that’s not –”

                “It’s true!” Arthur interrupted loudly. Alfred sat quietly as Arthur shrill, panicked tones echoed off of the walls of the study, ringing sadly against the heavy atmosphere.

“When I became Queen, Spades was indebted to many other kingdoms due to a war that raged for almost a decade… When I took the throne, I vowed that never again would such a war drag down this kingdom. So I invested money in the people and farmland instead of the military…”

Arthur raked his hands through his hair and halted his pacing, standing in front of the doors to the balcony. Just for a second, Alfred saw a look of discovery cross Arthur’s face before an expression of horror took its place.

“If I hadn’t lowered the funding to the training of guards and exchange of better materials for their weapons, perhaps they could have stopped Samuel’s men.” Arthur’s eyes went wide. “We can’t start training _now…_ it’s far too late. Too late to start playing catch-up with my mistakes,” Turning to Alfred, Arthur tugged at his own hair desperately, as if he was trying to punish himself. “Alfred, everyone is going to die, and it’s _all my fault_.”

“Whoa,” Alfred said quickly, holding up his hands as a signal to Arthur. “Whoa. Stop.”

“I’ve let too much slip through my fingers… Too many things have gone wrong while I’ve been on the throne. Tyrants, infidelity… and far too many lives have been lost. I’m not doing anything right. It’s my fault.” Looking at the floor, Arthur shook his head slowly. “It’s… It’s only a matter of time until the gods decide that I’m unworthy of this throne.”

Alfred stood up abruptly. “Arthur, stop.”

“They’ll choose another person… anyone would be more capable than I.”

                Stepping forward quickly, Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur and held the smaller man tightly against his chest. “Stop. Please stop.”

                “And then I’ll just,” Arthur took a shuddering breath, like he was preparing himself to cry. “I’ll just die. Finally. After all these years.”

                Alfred closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the crown of Arthur’s hair. “Don’t… don’t say that.” When he felt Arthur’s stiff frame loosen a bit in his arms, Alfred tightened his hold on Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur’s fingers were still caught in his golden hair, clinging to the locks as if his life depended on it. Under the rim of his glasses, he could see the way Arthur’s black shirt folded and creased under his hands, so easy bent and obscured. Alfred closed his eyes. “Don’t think like that, Arthur. It’s scary. Everything is scary. There’s a lot going on right now.”

                Arthur hummed against his chest, and Alfred continued. “Don’t say you’re going to die. Don’t make it sound like it’s a better option. If you’re gone, this place will go to hell in a handbasket. This people need you.” Arthur tensed again, and Alfred turned his head to press a kiss to the side of Arthur’s head. “I need you. Okay?” Alfred waited for a response, and when Arthur didn’t answer, he tried again. “Arthur… _okay_?”

                “Yes,” Arthur murmured into the collar of Alfred’s shirt. “I can hear you.”

                “Good.” Alfred nodded, licking his lips as Arthur took his hands from his hair. Those hands slid down to wrap around Alfred’s waist, linking together at the small of Alfred’s back and holding him closer. Alfred gave a tentative smile. “We’ll figure this out, Arthur. I know we will. It’s scary when it’s all happening at once, but…” Alfred paused when Arthur took breath. “But we can find some way to stop Samuel.”

                Arthur hummed again, and Alfred nodded again, this time with more confidence. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do this. It’s gonna be okay. We just need to wait for our allies to respond to your call to action, and go from there. Heck, we can start more intensive training with the palace guards tomorrow morning, easy.”

                 “Training the palace guards?” Arthur huffed. “How will that help the people on the borders?”

                Alfred shrugged, jostling Arthur in his arms a bit as he did so. “They can send the message and training to other guards nearby, so on and so forth.”

                Arthur snorted. “How optimistic.”

                “Super optimistic,” Alfred smiled, feeling the way Arthur’s arms around him tightened. “And don’t we have to go to Diamonds in a few weeks? We can reach out to _tons_ of allies that way. Maybe even make new ones. Samuel has to have been harassing more than just one kingdom in the Outlands, so he’s probably made a few enemies. We can use that to our advantage.”

                “Heavens,” Arthur sighed, “It seems like you’ve thought about this more than I have.”

                Alfred hummed a flat tone. “I’ve been sitting around thinking about it for a while… All morning, I guess. The ideas were just in the back of my head, I guess.” Arthur sniffed, and Alfred felt him shift in his arms, turning his head just a bit so he could properly rest his cheek against Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred took a deep breath. “Arthur, you need to take a break. If you just keep stewing in these thoughts…”

                Alfred let those words trail off with nothing to finish them. They both already knew what happened when Arthur got caught up in his thoughts. He had terrible thoughts of dying and almost worse memories of being near death. If Arthur allowed himself to wade in the whirlpool of his thoughts, there was a likely chance that he would simply drown.

                Arthur shrugged Alfred’s arms away as he took a step back, pushing the heel of his hand through his hair absently. “You know, I… I think I might be a bit hungry.”

                Trying to smile, Alfred felt his cheeks hurt as he looked down at Arthur’s downtrodden expression. Bending down just a bit, Alfred pressed a kiss to Arthur’s pale cheek, lingering for a few seconds with his lips on Arthur’s skin. His cheek was warm, but Alfred couldn’t tell if it was because of embarrassment or frustration.

                Arthur’s smaller hands came up to wrap around Alfred’s neck, holding him in place just for a second. Alfred allowed himself to be held, placing his hands on Arthur’s hips so he could hold himself steady.

                “My sweet King… My most wondrous man… what would I do without you?”

                His smile was still pressed to Arthur’s cheek, but at least it felt more natural, now. “You’d probably be lonely.” Alfred stated, pausing for a moment before finishing with, “I’d be lonely, too.”

*********

                “Oh, my… what’s all this?” Arthur asked as Alfred led him to the terrace.

                Candles lined the circle pavilion that surrounded the terrace, and because the two of them lingered in the study for so long, wax was already beginning to drip down onto the pavement below. The warm, honey-colored glow of candlelight illuminated the dim garden, and the small table was filled with colorful plates of food. Alfred remembered Arthur saying he enjoyed certain cuisines, and was eager to get the head chef, Rosaline, to prepare a special birthday dinner for the Queen.

                Though the dinner table was lovely, Arthur took his time to admire the fireflies that paused mid-flight to rest on the leaves and petals of the many garden flowers and herbs. Alfred bit his bottom lip and smiled. It was something straight out of a fairytale… all he had to do was kiss Arthur before midnight and the spell of sadness over his heart would be broken.

                “Such extravagance…” Arthur breathed as he reached out a slender hand to trace the petal of a dew-glittered rose before he turned back to Alfred. “I thought we were just going to eat dinner.”

                “We were,” Alfred nodded, clapping his hands together quietly. “I was planning this dinner with Rosaline for a few hours before I came to get you in the study.”

                 There was a smile on Arthur’s lips, but Alfred could see the pronounced glimmer of unshed tears lingering in his eyes. Returning the smile tenfold, Alfred took Arthur’s hand and tugged him toward the terrace.

                “The candles were Annie’s idea,” Alfred said as he walked Arthur along the inside circumference of the terrace. “She said it would make things brighter than they seem.”

                “It does lighten the mood,” Arthur murmured gently as they neared the table.

                Alfred nodded enthusiastically as he pulled out Arthur’s chair for him. “I think so, too. See these?” Alfred indicated to the small vase of lilacs on the table. “They were my idea.”

                “Lilacs,” Arthur smiled. “You remembered that they’re my favorite... It wasn’t that long ago when I told you, was it? When we were up on that cliff… Only two months. Perhaps only one.”

                While Arthur recalled the memory, Alfred lifted up the teapot and poured Arthur a cup of persimmon leaf tea. It was one of Arthur’s favorites, Alfred remembered. Licking his lips, Alfred set down the teapot with slightly unsteady hands, and took his seat.

                “It feels like I’ve been here a long time,” Alfred noted as he took a piece of specially seasoned chicken from a large platter and put it on his plate. “Sometimes, when I sit here with you, I feel like I’ve been here for years.”

                Looking up at Arthur shyly, Alfred was met with an expression of pure adoration. Arthur’s pale, pink lips were turned up in a small smile, and his formerly trouble-clouded eyes shone with warmth.

                “Oh, how I wish that you could have been with me for years,” Arthur said softly before he took a sip of tea, setting his cup down carefully. “I think… Spades might have been better off if you had come to us sooner.”

                Alfred raised an eyebrow at that. “You think? I don’t know… I’m pretty sure you’ve been doing just fine on your own.” Arthur scoffed as he served himself some salad. Alfred leaned his elbows on the table and smiled. “Seriously. The people of Spades love you. They only just met me, so I’m pretty sure they don’t love me.”

                “It’s just a matter of time, I’m sure,” Arthur sighed. “You are a very approachable man, Alfred. I’m sure if you go out into the capital city again, anyone would…” There was a pause, and Alfred watched Arthur touch his fingers to his lips. “I’m sure anyone could fall in love with you.”

                Narrowing his eyes, Alfred felt his cheeks grow warm. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what I meant.”

                “Elbows off the table, Alfred,” Arthur said quickly, attempting to change the subject. “Now, riddle me this, my love… Why have you arranged such a lavish dinner this evening?”

                Alfred slid his elbows off of the table slowly and leaned back. “Well, I feel bad for how I ran off this morning,” Arthur gave him a careful glance, and Alfred was quick to continue. “And I really think you should take a break. If you sit and think for too long, you’ll just burn yourself out. So breaks are good…” Arthur took a bite of chicken and nodded as he chewed slowly. Alfred smiled. “And Fredrick told me something interesting while I was in the other side of the palace.”

                Arthur stopped chewing and gave Alfred a strange look. Taking his time, Alfred rolled back his shoulders and popped a small cube of cheese into his mouth. If he kept the concept of Arthur’s birthday casual, it was more likely that it would be received easier.

                “He said it was your birthday,” Alfred said lowly. Arthur gasped and coughed several times as he choked on his food, obviously surprised that Alfred found out. Alfred was up and out of his chair quickly, patting Arthur’s back carefully as the Queen sputtered before finally managing to swallow his mouthful of food. As Arthur took deep breaths to recover, Alfred rubbed his hand back and forth between Arthur’s shoulder blades. “Jeez, I thought it would be a good thing for you to take it easy on your birthday.”

                “I think not,” Arthur coughed again, “I should have known Fredrick would tell you.”

                Alfred laughed a little as he knelt next to Arthur’s chair. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Arthur gave him a strange look while he wiped a napkin over his mouth, and Alfred tried to rephrase his message. “I mean, don’t get mad at Freddy because he told me. You’re supposed to celebrate your birthday.”

                “The day I was born holds little importance, Alfred.”

                Rocking back on his heels, Alfred held onto the arm of Arthur’s chair as he rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to your mom when she says crap like that. I think your birthday is important. I mean, it’s important to me. It’s the day you were born. If you weren’t born, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be happily married to my soulmate. I’d probably be drowning in student debt, by now… If you weren’t born, I mean.”

                Arthur sighed. “Alfred, please –”

                “No. No, stop that,” Alfred rocked forward and leaned against the side of Arthur’s chair, keeping his serious expression even as Arthur smiled down at him. “Don’t fight me on this. I’m happy that it’s your birthday.”

                “It’s also the day that countless families in the West are burying their children, grandchildren, and other family members.”

                Alfred frowned. “But it won’t be that way every year. Sure, it’s sad _now_ , and I know that I sound a little heartless, but… Next year will be better. I’m going to make every one of your birthdays great, starting with this one. And now matter what’s happening, no matter how crazy things seem…we’ll always be able to sit down and share a meal together.”

                Alfred couldn’t keep a straight face as Arthur bent down and kissed him. He was grinning too hard, and he was sure the impression of his smile would stain Arthur’s lips for years to come. When Arthur pulled back, he passed his fingers through Alfred’s hair slowly. Alfred could see the content glow of candlelight caught in Arthur’s irises when he smiled, and Alfred felt his heart pound happily.

                “Is that a promise, darling?” Arthur asked quietly as his fingers carded through Alfred’s hair, mindful of the earpieces on his glasses.

                Alfred tilted his head to the side a little, and smiled wider when Arthur cradled his head in his delicate hands. He wanted nothing more than to erase the threat of war. If he could, he would just erase Samuel and his army from existence. But such a thing was impossible. So, he would do the only thing he could do for Arthur: give him a promise that someday, somehow, things would be better.

                Blinking up at Arthur slowly, Alfred nodded just once and said, “That’s a fact, sweetheart.”


	16. Tres

                For several long months, Alfred had gotten used to the rainy, foggy, and allover cool climate of Spades. Of course, he’d known that when he arrived in Spades it was only spring, and that the weather would change accordingly when summer came. But he wasn’t prepared for it. Growing up in the state of Washington prepared him for the light fog of morning and the cozy afternoons. It did _not_ prepare him for the sweltering heat that blurred the lines of the horizon and turned his sweat into steam if he held still long enough.

                Alfred had been trying to grow accustomed to the heat slowly. After Arthur’s near meltdown in the study, he’d spent the next several weeks working with the palace guards and their training. While outside with them, he worked hard, felt dizzy, had to sit down and drink water, and then go back to training. Though he was slowly acclimatizing to the weather, the temperature didn’t want to stay the same. Some afternoons felt like they were 70 degrees, but others felt like they must have been 100 degrees.

                So, as Alfred stood in front of a soldier named Clark with a sword in his hand, sweat was quickly rolling down the side of his face. It was hot that day. It was the day that marked exactly six weeks after he and Arthur decided to do what they could to stop Samuel and his army. Sadly, it also meant that they were only three short days until the Ball of Diamonds.

                Alfred’s hands shook as he tried to hold his bronze practice-sword steady, and he took a quick step to the side, hoping to lead Clark in the wrong direction. Clark fell for the taunt, and while he took a swing at Alfred, the King stepped back, out of his reach, and then surged forward to slip his sword between Clark’s arm and his torso.

                “There,” Alfred panted as he relaxed his arm and let the edge of his sword hit the ground unceremoniously. “See what I did? You’ve gotta…” Alfred paused to wipe his shirt sleeve across his wet forehead. The fabric came back drenched. “You’ve gotta make sure you know what your opponent is going to do before they do it. Think of the consequences of your actions.”

                Clark nodded as he stood up straight and scrubbed a hand over his own face tiredly. “You mean I should expect the unexpected, Highness?

                “Sure, sure.” Alfred nodded. “I’ve been reading up on these sword techniques, and I think they’ll be really useful.”

                While Clark nodded again, Alfred stumbled away from the dusty training field to sit down on the stone walkway that led to the palace. He’d already shed his formal vest, leaving his loose shirt to move with him as he practiced, but the cotton fabric was quickly starting to settle and stick to his damp skin. Taking off his glasses, Alfred set down his sword on the ground and wiped a hand over his face.

                The guards were taking to the training well even though Alfred was relatively new among them. After he’d trained with Sonia, the best swordswoman of the lot, for several weeks on end, he’d earned some respect among the other soldiers. He knew if they were going to defend themselves against Samuel’s army, they’d need a little more power and technique, so after he’d train with the guards, he’d go to the library and work out strategies with Yao.

                The Jack of Spades was still shaken by the death of his nephew, but he was more than ready to help Alfred find a way to defeat Samuel’s army. Hours were spent in the library, and day after day, Alfred found himself going to bed, kissing Arthur just once, and falling asleep with his head on Arthur’s chest, only to wake up and repeat the process.

But, even the simple joy of falling asleep with Arthur was starting to be tainted by the weather. It was too hot to have Arthur sprawled on top of him. Even spooning Arthur with an arm around his waist was proving to be much too hot for the both of them. There was no comfort to be found in the melting heat of summer, it seemed.

Alfred put his glasses back on and closed his eyes, laying back on the hot, stone floor. The sun still burned the back of his eyelids, and he quickly threw an arm over his eyes to shield himself. As he did so, he realized that he had a headache. The soreness of his feet and the groan of his arms and legs had been distracting him for days, but he didn’t give way. He was busy. He wanted to help in any way he could. And with that attitude, he’d won the trust of every soldier in the palace. But trust alone wasn’t nearly enough to crush an entire army.

Samuel’s men hadn’t been spotted by the border patrol for quite some time. There had been rumors that rebel scouts had been loitering around the northern town of Dunske, but they were never proved true. In reality, they didn’t know where Samuel was, when he’d strike next, or who he was enlisting for help. Alfred sighed. There was a lot of work to be done.

As Alfred lay with one half of his body on the floor and the other half on the dirt of the training grounds, he felt a hand pat the arm over his eyes. It could have been a number of people, but Alfred didn’t have the energy or willpower to move his arm. So he stayed still as the hand tapped his arm again. Before long, a muffled sound accompanied the tapping, though Alfred couldn’t quite tell what it was. It was reminiscent of the way words sounded when he was underwater, warbling and nonsensical. Alfred frowned. Why did everything sound like it was underwater?

Not allowed any more time to think, Alfred’s arm was forcibly removed from his eyes, and the sunlight scorched the back of his eyelids once more. Alfred grunted and turned away from the light, finding solace in the shadow of his unknown companion. He opened his eyes slowly, seeing pale, blue trousers first, then slender hands reaching out to him, and then… Nothing. Everything was black. Why was that? Did he close his eyes? He didn’t feel it.

Prying his eyes open again, Alfred felt the world come back to him with a force. The sound of swords clanging together rang louder than ever, and the sweat sliding down his cheek was almost jarring. A hand came to wipe the bead of sweat away, and Alfred lifted his eyes to see Arthur kneeling over him with concerned smile.

“I’ve been sent to retrieve you,” he said softly as he leaned over Alfred. He had a thin sheen of sweat on his own forehead, and passed the back of his hand across his forehead absently. “Our soldiers are growing wary of your fatigue and pale face,” Arthur paused, and then added, “As am I.”

                Alfred sighed and rolled over until he was leaning against Arthur’s thighs. “At least I didn’t fall over, today.”

                “You’re on the floor, my love.”

                “I was laying down on purpose.” Alfred huffed, “I’m tired.”

                “Yes, I can see that. All of the soldiers have been taking shifts with you; none of them have been up and training as long as you have,” Alfred didn’t look up to see Arthur’s disapproving frown. “You should have come inside to eat, at the very least.”

                Lying flat on his back again, Alfred stretched his arms. “Wasn’t hungry.” That was true, at least. He’d been nauseous for almost an hour, now.

                Alfred heard a sigh, and felt Arthur’s hand slide across his forehead again. “That’s a lie,” Arthur breathed, and Alfred could almost hear the smile in his words. “You never like to miss a meal. You often drag me away to the dining table when I try to avoid eating, telling me that it’s unhealthy to go without food.” Arthur plucked Alfred’s glasses from his face, and Alfred opened his eyes to squint at his husband. Arthur wiped the lenses clean with a corner of his shirt cuff. “Now I can do the same for you.”

                There was a grin in Alfred’s words as he whispered, “God, what would I do without you?”

                Arthur snorted and gently pushed Alfred’s glasses back onto his face. “Starve, perhaps? Without my aid, Rosaline would _still_ dislike you.”

                Alfred made a face at that, not bothering to open his eyes. “I was trying to be romantic, but sure. That works… I guess.”

                “Ah, well. Your romance might prove more effective if you were looking me in the eye,” Arthur said as he tugged on the collar of Alfred’s shirt. Alfred complied the physical order and started to sit up as Arthur grumbled down to him, “Up you get, dearest. If there is one thing I’d like to do with you this afternoon, it is to eat a meal.”

                For just a second, Alfred opened his eyes, looked at the blurry landscape of the training ground, and proceeded to fall sideways against Arthur. Arthur caught him, of course. Though there was a strangely adorable high-pitched noise that came from the Queen as he did so. Alfred closed his eyes. Alfred figured it was heat exhaustion. If he didn’t get out of the sun, it was only a matter of time until he passed out.

                “Water,” Alfred groaned as Arthur held him steady. Several of the soldiers came to help Arthur, hauling Alfred to his feet as he wobbled. “I need to drink water. And lay down. And…”

                “Yes, my King. All in due time,” said Arthur as he held Alfred’s left arm. Stephen held onto Alfred’s right arm, walking him back into the palace while Arthur grumbled something like, “You’ll need a bath as well. You smell like the entire armada of Spades after a two month voyage.”

                And, even though his mind was foggy and his muscles ached, Alfred laughed.

+++++

                “Arthur, when we go to the Ball on Friday… How long to we have to stay in Diamonds?” Alfred frowned as he turned a piece of lettuce over on his plate. Arthur arched a thick eyebrow and took a drink of tea with a questioning look in his eye. Alfred sighed. “I mean, the less we need to see Francis, the better.”

                Arthur set down his cup and gave the roses a withering glance. “Funny. For a moment, I thought you were concerned about the impact our absence in Spades would have on the war.”

                Alfred pursed his lips. “Well, I was worried about Francis… _and_ that.”

                With casual flicks of his wrist, Arthur straightened his shirt cuffs as he spoke. “At any annual Ball in the Card Kingdom, guests from outside Kingdoms are normally there for the evening. Any extraneous time spent in that kingdom is unnecessary.”

                Alfred squinted at Arthur over the table. “Do you not like traveling?”

                “Not when there is a war waiting on my borders, no.”

                Leaning back, Alfred tried to act nonchalant as he ate his salad. Two days were left until the Ball of Diamonds, and Alfred knew Arthur was getting antsy. Just the day before, they had been laying together atop the sheets while Alfred slowly cooled down from his heat exhaustion. Arthur had crooned sweet nothings in his ear and dragged a cold washcloth over his burning skin. It was beautifully calming and endearingly kind, but Arthur didn’t stay that calm for very long.

                With the coming dawn, Arthur became increasingly anxious about leaving Spades. Before breakfast, he’d threatened to rescind their acceptance to the Ball. Alfred told him that it might be a little rude to decline their invitation when the Ball was only two days away. At lunch, Arthur briefly panicked about what would happen if the borders were stormed again while they were gone. Alfred had to assure Arthur that he’d sent an order to their generals to reorganize the border patrols. Now, as they sat at dinner, Arthur was glaring at the pink roses hard enough Alfred was sure they’d burst into flame.

                He was most likely thinking about the worst thing that could happen while they were gone. Alfred wasn’t really sure what the worst could be. Would an assassin swoop in to the palace and kill everyone so they could claim the throne while they were in Diamonds? No, they would probably need backup for that. Maybe Samuel would start a fire along the entire land-based border of Spades so that Alfred and Arthur wouldn’t be able to return. Well, it was possible, but how would he keep that fire going? Alfred shook his head. Imagining terrible things would only make him feel terrible.

                “Arthur, can we –”

                “Your Majesties,” both Alfred and Arthur turned their heads to see Yao standing in the doorway of the dining room. There was a coal black, satin ribbon in his hair that was nearly invisible against his deep brown hair. There was a serious expression on his face, and there seemed to be no room for question as he stepped toward the table and gave a deep bow. “I am requesting to accompany you to the Ball of Diamonds.”

                Alfred squinted at Yao in all of his intelligent glory. His royal blue, silken robes shone in the dim light of the setting sun in the windows, and it gave him an added air of mystery. Why did he decide to come to the Ball _now_? He hadn’t wanted to come to the Ball of Hearts, so why was the Ball of Diamonds any different? Not to mention it was a little late to decide he’d come with them. The Ball was in two days. Surely, that was cutting it too close.

                Setting down his fork, Alfred took a deep breath. “Yao, isn’t it a little late to –”

                Arthur quickly reached across the table and covered Alfred’s hand with his own, abruptly cutting off Alfred’s words when he said, “By all means, come with us. We’d be delighted to have you, Yao.”

                While Alfred turned his confused stare to Arthur, Yao gave another bow, and quickly made his exit with no further explanation. Arthur kept his eyes on the door that Yao had walked through only seconds before. His expression was dragged down by dark emotions, and the grip he had on Alfred’s hand was almost too tight to be comfortable.

                Leaning forward over the table a little bit, Alfred narrowed his eyes at his husband. “Arthur?”

                “I knew he was going to ask sooner or later,” Arthur mumbled as he continued to watch the door. “I’ve been… expecting it.”

                Alfred turned his hand over in Arthur’s so he could lace their fingers together. “Why does he want to come to Diamonds? He didn’t want to come last time.”

                With a passive wave of his empty hand, Arthur turned back to Alfred. “I’m sure it has to do with the initial attack against Spades.”

                “So… He’s coming along because he’s worried about our safety? I thought he was just a scribe.”

                Arthur frowned as he tapped the rim of his teacup. “Yao is indeed the greatest scribe this kingdom has ever seen, but he is also a fantastic warrior. He was born in the Outlands far to the east, and his family taught him a unique fighting style that’s isn’t very well known,” taking a deep breath, Arthur blinked slowly. “And, as I’ve said before, Yao has every right to come to any Card Kingdom Ball he wishes.”

                “But isn’t it a little… I dunno,” Alfred shrugged, “ _Late_ to change his mind about coming with us?”

                Exhaling heavily, Arthur looked out at the roses once more and murmured, “It’s also a little early to start complaining about seeing Francis again, but I didn’t say anything about that.”

                “Yes, you did,” Alfred argued, leaning forward and pointing accusingly at Arthur. “You gave me a sarcastic, condescending answer that inferred I’m not worried about the war.”

                “I didn’t infer,” Arthur insisted as he blinked slowly at the roses. “I insinuated.”

                Pushing his chair back fast enough for it to scrape against the polished, marble floors loudly, Alfred stood up and marched away from the table. It was becoming too difficult to navigate Arthur’s complicated emotions. Being anxious about the war was one thing, but lashing out against Alfred in his fits of anxiety seemed a bit unnecessary.

                “I’m going to bed,” Alfred said as he stormed out of the dining room. He could hear Arthur’s chair screech against the floor as he stood up, but Alfred didn’t turn around to wait for him. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

                “Alfred, wait,” Arthur called after him, chasing him down the long hallways. “I was being childish. I’m sorry,” Alfred slowed his pace just enough for Arthur to take hold of his arm as he repeated himself in a sad, hushed tone. “I’m sorry.”

                Arthur held onto Alfred’s arm the entire trip back to their bedroom. In Alfred’s peripheral vision, he could see a sliver of Arthur’s frustrated expression, and though he didn’t turn to see the rest of it, he took Arthur’s hand as they walked. Few things were said as they entered the bedroom aside from Arthur’s gentle “Thank you,” when Alfred handed him his nightshirt, and Alfred’s gruff, “Help,” when he couldn’t unfasten the buckle on his belt.

                It was tense and unusual, as if Alfred had stepped into yet another alternate dimension. He didn’t like it. When they finally laid down together on the bed, Arthur immediately laid on his side with his back to Alfred, shutting down the chance of a proper conversation. Alfred took off his glasses and put them on the bedside table before he extinguished the oil lamp. He didn’t want the night to end this way. He wanted to comfort Arthur more, but how could he do so when Arthur was purposely – and admittedly – acting childish?

                “Arthur,” he breathed, scooting toward his husband and wrapping his arm around Arthur’s waist. It was just cool enough that the motion was more soothing than smothering. Arthur didn’t say anything. “Arthur, please… Please, say something.”

                There was a pause before Arthur shifted to lean back against Alfred’s chest, pressing their bodies together as he whispered, “What would you like me to say?”

                Alfred hesitated. He didn’t really want Arthur to say anything. He just wanted Arthur to act like himself again. But to do that, Arthur had to feel like going to Diamonds to see their allies was the right thing to do. Pressing a kiss to the shell of Arthur’s ear, Alfred tried to think. What would fix this? How could he completely assure Arthur that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that going to Diamonds would not be the end of the world?

                “It’s going to be okay,” Alfred lied through his teeth. He didn’t know anything for sure, but he knew that he could give Arthur a little white lie to chase away the fears of darkness.

                “It’s going to be okay,” Arthur repeated dully in tired, breathy tones that made Alfred yawn against the soft skin of Arthur’s neck.

Only two seconds later, Arthur echoed the yawn, snuggling back into the safety of Alfred’s arms. Outside the open windows, crickets chirped an unmarked chorus while frogs croaked softly. Moonlight stained the room a sad, navy blue, and Alfred saw the way Arthur’s hair was tainted a sullen, ashen gray. It seemed depressing, just like the attitude that had controlled the day. Alfred closed his eyes tight and tried to force himself to sleep, he heard Arthur whisper one last thing before he finally fell silent.

                “I hope you’re right."

+++++

                “Today will be a good day,” Alfred announced loudly as he walked through the throne room with long, bouncing steps. Arthur stood at the head of the room, dusting off the edges of their crowns with a disinterested expression. “I said,” Alfred raised his voice, “ _Today_ will be a _good day_.”

                “I heard you, darling,” Arthur called across the bright room. “You’ve been saying that ever since you woke up this morning.”

                Turning on his heel, Alfred pointed at Arthur and winked when the Queen looked at him. “And so far, the day has been good! We heard back from Souben and Kalleous,” Alfred nodded to himself as he straightened his glasses. “And tomorrow, we’ll be off to Diamonds!”

                “Huzzah,” Arthur deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

                No wasting any time, Alfred sauntered across the room and grabbed Arthur from behind, wrapping the smaller man up in his arms and squeezing him tight. Arthur squeaked and exhaled heavily, obviously being crushed. But Alfred couldn’t bring himself to care.

                “Don’t be like that,” Alfred murmured into the clammy sin of Arthur’s neck. His breath must’ve tickled, because Arthur immediately began to giggle and twist in Alfred’s arms, trying to break free. “Hey, it’s a good day. We’re being positive,” Alfred pressed a kiss just behind Arthur’s ear, and Arthur nearly dropped the crown in his hands. Alfred smiled and said, “I’ve sent out the next order of fighting techniques… Soon, even the border patrol will know the expert moves that we’ve been practicing here, in the palace.”

                “That’s,” Arthur took a breath, laughed once, then tried to reign in his sensibility as he breathed, “That’s wonderful news, my love.”

                “There you go, sweetheart!” Alfred nuzzled his nose into Arthur’s hair, breathing in the scent of lilacs before he spoke into Arthur’s gold-spun locks. “Think positive.”

                “Yes. I have learned the error of my ways,” Arthur hummed as he set his crown on the shelf next to him. He then leaned back in Alfred’s arms, swaying to and fro gently. “Being negative is not condoning to your attitude. The impact is… Troubling.”

                Alfred closed his eyes and sighed into Arthur’s hair. It was true. Only the day before, Arthur had been looking for every possible thing that could go wrong in the days to come, and it had only served to push Alfred away. Of course Arthur was seeking comfort and attention, but Alfred… He grew up with peers that would constantly point out the terrible things in their life, trying to one-up the next person. It only moved to depress all of them, and more than once, it showed Alfred how he truly couldn’t make a real difference in their lives, no matter how hard he tried.

                Even if he helped them, they would stay negative. It was the way they were raised, and the way they were socialized. Alfred told his mother this once, and she told him to walk away. It wasn’t worth it. So, when Arthur started pushing his negativity onto Alfred, the King of Spades listened to the best advice he’d ever been given: walk away.

                “Alfred,” Arthur whispered so quietly, Alfred almost missed his name being called. Alfred hummed inquisitively, and Arthur spoke again. “You know that I love you. I love you very much.”

                Alfred held Arthur just a bit tighter as he said, “I love you, too. Way more than I can really say.”

                “And I thank you,” Arthur paused, then added, “Do you think… No, never mind.”

                Alfred stopped swaying with Arthur, and held still as he grumbled, “No. What were you going to say?”

                Arthur sighed. “I’m being petty,”

                “Whatever.”

                Another pause. “And possessive.”

                Alfred snorted. “Sure you are. Just tell me what you want, Arthur.”

                “Oh, there are a number of things I want,” Arthur smiled as he leaned back against Alfred with a little more of his weight. Alfred moved his feet apart a bit more to compensate for the additional strain, and took a deep breath as Arthur continued. “We have simply been… Too _busy_ to do those things.” Alfred felt his heartrate elevate and his cheeks burn as Arthur began to trace circles on the back of his hand. “On the eve of my birthday, I thought… Just for a moment, we could indulge ourselves. But perhaps fate rules that such a union must wait.”

                “Y-yeah,” Alfred cleared his throat and dropped his chin to sit atop Arthur’s shoulder. “There’s been a, um... A lot of stuff going on, here.”

                Arthur hummed. “Indeed. But, that is not what I was going to ask for.”

                “Oh. Right. Let’s hear it.”

                With a deep breath and a lick of his lips, Arthur asked in the gentlest voice possible, “I don’t want to be left alone when we go to Diamonds. Over the years, another Card Kingdom royal has deigned to stand beside me as I walk alone, but…” Arthur turned his head to knock against Alfred’s softly. “But you’re with me, now. And we’ll be in Diamonds, and Francis… I don’t want to be caught alone. Not this year.” Arthur’s eyelashes brushed softly against the warm skin of Alfred’s cheek when he blinked slowly, whispering, “Stay with me?”

                Alfred smiled and kissed Arthur’s cheek. “Always, sweetheart. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”


	17. Divitia

                “It’s almost unsettling,” said Yao as he sat in the carriage across from Alfred and Arthur. “For years it was almost impossible to get him to rest, and now…”

Yao motioned to the way Arthur was currently dozing against Alfred’s shoulder with a perplexed expression. Trying not to wake Arthur, Alfred made a helpless gesture with his hands. It had been almost six hours since the trio had left Spades, and most of their travel time had been fairly quiet. It was no wonder Arthur had fallen asleep.

From the very second the carriage pulled away from the castle gates, Arthur had been fidgeting with his shirt cuffs until Alfred saw the string on the lace fray and chewing his bottom lip until he winced and announced he was bleeding. In the end, Yao and Alfred had reluctantly chosen to go over the military tactics and strategies they had been working on recently. The fact that Alfred and Yao had the military well-handled must have relaxed Arthur a fair amount, considering he’d been asleep for almost three hours.

“He _did_ tell me that I’ve made his soul more peaceful,” Alfred noted before muttering, “Or something like that.”

Yao hummed a low note as he turned his gaze to the small window on the carriage door, seemingly having nothing more to say on the matter. Alfred almost smiled. Yao had always been a conservative person, so if he told Alfred his honest opinion, it must mean that he really trusted his King. Pursing his lips, Alfred watched the Jack of Spades stare blindly at the foreign scenery that they passed. Yao had yet to mention why he was coming to the Ball of Diamonds, but Alfred had no doubt it had something to do with his nephew’s death at the hands of Samuel’s army.

“Hey, Yao,” Alfred called softly, stiffening a bit when Arthur inhaled sharply and shifted a bit next to him. Only when Arthur was comfortable and breathing softly again did Alfred ask, “Do you come to the Card Kingdom Balls often?”

Threading his fingers through his silky smooth hair, Yao continued to eye the window as he spoke. “For several years, I’ve opted not to go to the other kingdoms. I served an important purpose as a placeholder for the throne while the Queen was gone,” Yao paused, then looked to Alfred with an uneasy smile. “I held the same responsibility when you and the Queen left for Hearts. Now that I am accompanying the two of you, I can see why the Queen is nervous; the throne is left empty with only royal advisors and hollow orders to take your place.”

Arthur moaned sadly in his sleep, and Alfred was quick to wrap his arm around Arthur soothingly. Yao and Alfred waited for Arthur to wake up and blink blearily, but Arthur merely relaxed against Alfred’s arm and was quiet once more.

“If your job is so important while we’re gone,” Alfred said cautiously as Yao narrowed his eyes, “Why are you coming with us now?”

For a few long seconds, the carriage was void of any sound other than the steady thud of hoof beats and rumble of the wheels. Yao lowered his hands from his hair, sitting them in his lap with an almost serene expression. Alfred mused that it _would_ have been serene if not for the pronounced gleam of sadness in Yao’s dark, mystifying eyes.

Yao’s thin hands braced against the tops of his knees, and his fingernails dug into the royal blue, satin fabric of his robes. Alfred noticed that Yao was always elegant, even when he had a troubled air about him. Always elegant, but somehow, he was always managed to look more tired than he Queen who hadn’t slept well for one hundred years. Alfred wondered if he was weighed down my memories, or what was yet to occur… Was either option better than the other? Alfred doubted it.

“Your Highness,” Yao finally breathed after several minutes, looking up to Alfred with a thoughtful visage. Alfred made an inquisitive noise, and Yao leaned his weight into his hands, turning the fingers on his knees a chalky white with tension. “You must understand that I am coming to the Ball on my own agenda. I, unlike many other people who are going to Diamonds today, am not going to honor their year-end celebration,” the Jack took a breath, closed his eyes, and murmuring to himself, “I’m going to mourn.”

+++++

                Alfred tilted his head back and adjusted his glasses as he stood aside the carriage, admiring the grand and gleaming Palace of Diamonds. It seemed that every inch of the palace was paved in polished marble, which according to Arthur, was extremely expensive and ridiculously pesky to carve. Yet, there were marble cherubs smiling down at Alfred and stoic, stone lions sat vigil just outside the terrific mahogany doors of the palace. Quirking an eyebrow, Alfred poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

                “Shiny,” he stated blandly as Arthur went through the motions of straightening Alfred’s dark, indigo coat that was made especially for the Ball of Diamonds.

                “Yes,” Arthur agreed in a bored tone as he smoothed his hands down the front of Alfred’s chest. Alfred smiled at the motion and caught Arthur’s hands when they settled on his hips. “Francis has always been keen on flaunting his wealth.” Arthur made a face and added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s plated the whole interior of the palace in gold.”

                Casting a skeptical glance at the ornately decorated covers of oil lamps that lit the walkway to the door, Alfred huffed a sigh.

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Alfred nodded as he released Arthur’s hands. “It’s… _flashy,_ ” he said as he opened his hands wide, demonstrating a burst of light. Arthur rolled his eyes. “And obnoxious. Just like Francis.”

Arthur’s gloved hands hid his laughter as he stood in front of Alfred. “You hardly know the man,” Arthur giggled.

Alfred pursed his lips. “I don’t need to know him well to know he’s obnoxious,” he said with a pout. Yao stood behind them, calmly ignoring the conversation until Alfred turned around and elbowed his arm. “Am I right, Yao? Francis is obnoxious?” Yao opened his mouth to no doubt object, but Alfred didn’t let him. “You see? Yao agrees with me. He think’s Francis is obnoxious and stupid.”

“Hush, hush!” Arthur hissed with wide eyes. Several young people passed them on their right, leaning into each other and whispering excitedly as they walked toward the front doors of the palace. Arthur was quick to poke at Alfred’s chest when they were out of earshot. “None of that talk while we are in the palace. Some of these people think highly of Francis.”

Alfred snorted at gave Yao a sidelong glance, looking for empathy. Yao merely raised his eyebrows as Alfred grumbled, “I can’t see why.”

“You are simply _full_ of witty retorts this evening, my King,” Arthur said with an unimpressed expression. He looked to Yao. “I do hope that if I am incapable, you will keep him on his best behavior.”

Yao opened his mouth to answer, but Alfred stopped him again by throwing an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and blocking the Queen’s view of Yao.

“No, no!” Alfred wagged his finger in front of Arthur’s eyes, causing Arthur to gape and blink rapidly. “I said I was going to stay by your side all night, and that’s how it’ll be! Yao is going to do…” Alfred looked back at Yao over his shoulder cautiously, getting an irritated glare from the Jack in response. “Yao is going to do Yao things. He’ll be too busy to babysit me.”

As Alfred tucked Arthur’s arm in his own and waved for Yao to follow them to the door, Arthur made a disgruntled noise. Maybe he was annoyed at the vast number of shining and sparkling pins on the vests of every guard, or perhaps he was put-off by the woman with an unsightly number of feathers tucked into her hair.

Alfred figured it could have been either, but as the neared the front doors, he clearly heard Arthur mutter to himself, “Why mustIbe the one who has to keep my husband from punching the King of Diamonds? I think that job is best left to the palace guards.”

While Alfred threw his head back and laughed loudly, the doors of the palace were slowly pulled open. The Ball of Diamonds had only just begun.

+++++

                “Is… Is this your card?” Lili asked Alfred shyly, holding up an ace of hearts.

                Alfred had been ‘playing’ with Lili for almost fifteen minutes. In truth, he was trying to entertain her while Francis was feeling up a random woman against the other side of the ballroom. Arthur was only a few steps away, speaking fervently with a busty Queen about the importance of their alliance. True to his word, Alfred had stuck close to Arthur. That involved Alfred putting a firm hand on Arthur’s waist when he spoke to anyone, holding Arthur’s hand when they walked around the ballroom, and nervously whispering sweet nothings in Arthur’s ear when the two of them were alone.

                Blinking hard to break himself out of his thoughts, Alfred smiled at the young Queen of Diamonds brightly. “Will you look at that?” He exclaimed loudly, slapping his hand to his forehead as Lili blushed. “That’s my card! I gotta say, you’re a spectacular magician, Milady.”

                While Lili laughed and put the card back in the deck she was holding in her other hand, Alfred kept smiling at her. She was so young and impressionable. Alfred almost felt sorry for her. She was young, pretty, and very intelligent. Yet, she was thrust onto a throne and married off to a man who didn’t pay her any attention. Even if the card she picked wasn’t the right one, Alfred gladly lied to her, just so she would smile. Just to give her a victory this one time. Just to let her be happy while the rest of her kingdom overlooked her and focused on her husband. Feeling his smile crack, Alfred realized that Lili was very much like Fredrick.

                They were young and innocent, full of life and ready to start their own path. But, both of them were held back by something. Fredrick was held back by his age and role on society, Lili was held back by her age and her role on the throne. Neither of them could live up to their potential… At least, not yet. In the meantime, Fredrick was posed as an obedient palace worker and Lili was left alone at the head of the ballroom, shuffling cards to occupy herself as her people forgot her. As Alfred adjusted his glasses and refreshed his smile, he tried to set his pity aside.

                “I just learned this one,” Lili said with a heightened tone of urgency, straightening her cards with trembling, tiny hands. “My brother, the Jack of Diamonds, taught it to me.”

                “Did he?” Alfred asked politely, even though he didn’t really care.

He casted a tired glance at the Jack of Diamonds who was currently standing three feet away from Lili, surveying the crowd with a dark expression. While Lili flipped over a few cards, Alfred gave the Jack of Diamonds a swift onceover. His blond hair was almost as long as Lili’s, but it was sloppily cut to end just above his jawline, and the delicate frame of his face nearly mirrored Lili’s.

He had piercing, cyan colored irises that were almost as jolting as Ludwig’s hard eyes as they scanned the Ball of Diamonds. He wore varying shades of gold, from the deep, rich color of his dress coat to the albicant hue of his knee-high stockings. The only thing that surprised Alfred was the lack of decoration on the Jack of Diamonds. He was Lili’s brother, and no doubt an important part of the Kingdom of Diamonds, so why didn’t he have any shining medals or pins? No gems adored his shirt cuffs or collar, and not even his cream-colored beret earned a pin of any kind.

As the Jack of Spades, Yao had been dressed in the finest clothing that could be made. It reflected his rich heritage from the Outlands while still bearing the mark of Spades. Long layers of elegant robes covered his arms, and gold spun symbols of Spades were sewn into the edge of each piece. All in all, Yao had looked like an elegant King, rather than a Card Kingdom Jack. But the Jack of Diamonds almost looked like a common man playing pretend with his little sister.

“Look, look,” Alfred turned to Lili as she held out her cards. “Take a card, King Alfred!” Alfred took a card. He gave it a hard glance, looked up a Lili, crossed his eyes, and blinked them back to normal while the girl laughed, “You’re so funny, Alfred!”

Alfred smiled and put his card back in Lili’s hand, not really remembering what card he had taken. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Yes, very funny. So very amusing,” Alfred’s smile quickly disappeared as he heard the distinct sound of Francis’ voice behind him. Lili had stopped smiling, too. She was busy hiding her deck of cards behind her back, apparently ashamed of her hobby. Standing up straighter, Alfred turned to see Francis smirk at him. While Francis flicked a long piece of hair from his eyes, he smiled wider and said, “I’m sure your sense of humor is the best part of your personality. Or rather… Maybe that’s all you’re good for?”

Glancing to the side, Alfred saw Arthur standing just behind Francis. His emerald eyes glittered with anxiety. Alfred watched Arthur’s gloved hands clasp together tightly, as if he was praying. Praying for Francis to leave Alfred alone, or praying that Alfred wouldn’t physically deform the King of Diamonds? Alfred couldn’t quite tell. Alfred’s eyes snapped back to Francis.

“On the contrary, King Francis. I think my _loyalty_ may be the best part of my personality.” Alfred said smoothly, replacing his frown with an easygoing smile.

Sauntering away from Lili, Alfred passed Francis slowly. The dampened pace allowed him to fix Francis with a hard, cold stare before stood next to Arthur. Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur’s waist as he turned to face Lili, and Arthur immediately leaned into him, safe and sound. Raising his eyebrows questioningly, Alfred watched the way Francis turned on his heel to frown at them directly.

“Or rather,” Alfred said pointedly, feeling Arthur give his side a warning pinch. He didn’t mind it. “Maybe the concept of loyalty is foreign to you?”

Francis’ reaction was immediate; he lifted his chin, and his chest puffed out indignantly. Alfred mused that he looked like a ruffled bird, all puffed up when something unsavory occurs. Lili stayed next to her brother, watching the interaction with wide eyes. She made no move to defend Francis. Why would she? For all Alfred knew, he never defended her, so she had to no reason to return the favor.

“What are you daring to imply, King of Spades?” Francis spat crossly as he looked down his nose at Alfred.

Alfred drummed his fingers against the curve Arthur’s hip. This was the most fun he’d had all evening. People were beginning to gather, and murmurs traveled throughout the masses. Some whispered that Alfred brave… Others said he was foolish to insult a King in his own kingdom. Alfred pursed his lips and wondered just how much trouble he could get into.

                While he was thinking of simply punching Francis, Alfred registered the feeling of Arthur’s hand resting over his heart. It was subtle at first, but after only a few seconds, Alfred felt his heartrate begin to slow. Alfred blinked. Is this what it meant to be with his soulmate? He was so calmed by Arthur’s presence, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel hostile.

                Exhaling heavily, Alfred shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not implying anything, Your Majesty,” Arthur’s hand pat Alfred’s chest comfortingly, and Alfred pointed his smile at Lili when he said, “The Ball of Diamonds is beautiful. You must be very proud.”

                Lili’s teal eyes fluttered rapidly as she smiled, twittering some kind of thanks while the Jack of Diamonds gave Alfred a respectful bow. As the muttering crowds slowly began to disperse, Francis didn’t take his eyes off of Alfred and Arthur when they turned and started to wander away from that side of the ballroom.

Alfred could feel the way Francis’ eyes bore into his back, but there were many more people in the crowds giving him appraising looks. Before he’d spoken up to Francis, many people thought Alfred was far too young to be respectful, but now… Now, these people looked at him expectantly. As if they were waiting for something grand to come from him, or some terrible failure to come crashing down on him. Though all the attention was flattering, it was also a little nerve-wracking.

Leaning down a bit, Alfred whispered in Arthur’s ear as they neared the window-lined eastern wall. “Hey. Did you do something, just now?”

Arthur’s steps stuttered for a second before he was refreshed and moving again. “Do something?” He repeated quietly. “Whatever do you mean?”

Alfred smiled nervously as a few girls to his left giggled and waved at him shyly. Now that he was out with strangers again, he wished he was back with Lili, watching her practice her card tricks. He tightened his hand on Arthur’s waist and felt a bit better when Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist in return.

“I think you did something.” Alfred decided under his breath. Arthur made in inquisitive noise, and Alfred tried again. “I was one second away from verbally punching Francis,” Alfred paused to nod at an ambassador he met at the Ball of Hearts before finishing with, “But then you were there, you had your hand on my heart, and all those thoughts just… Stopped.”

That was the moment Arthur stopped walking. His arm around Alfred’s waist slipped away, and he stood only a step away, giving Alfred a hopelessly happy smile. Alfred turned on his heel and looked back at him questioningly, carefully admiring the smile. Before he could ask what he did wrong, Arthur stepped forward, cupped Alfred’s face in his hands and pulled him down to touch their foreheads together.

“I want to kiss you,” Arthur breathed through his smile, drowning Alfred’s senses in the scent of mint tea. Alfred smiled bashfully and put his hands on Arthur’s hips, hyperaware of the fact they had an audience. “I’ve been wondering if our souls could be any closer, and you…” Arthur closed his eyes tight and laughed just once. “Oh, you perfect man. You don’t even realize how much you mean to me. I truly _was_ meant to love you.”

“Here, here.” Alfred pulled back from Arthur quickly, catching the jade irises of Elizabeth as he did. The Queen of Clubs clapped her hands together slowly with a beautiful smile, as if to applaud Alfred’s efforts. “With that lovely display toward Francis, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were _all_ meant to love you.”

Alfred’s embarrassed smile quickly grew wider as he basked in Elizabeth’s praise. He wasn’t anxious around her like when he was at the Ball of Hearts. No, this time things were different. He didn’t have to worry about Arthur’s roaming eyes or wandering heart. Arthur never had a fickle heart. Alfred learned that the hard way.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Alfred said with a respectful bow of his head.

Arthur turned to face Elizabeth, taking Alfred’s hand and holding it tight while Elizabeth tucked a piece of dark, brown hair behind her ear. Giving the Queen of Clubs a quick look, it seemed that Elizabeth was dressed to impress.

Her pale green ball gown brushed the ground where she walked, and her tight corset clung to her torso as if she would fall apart without it. The low cut of her collar gave everyone an excellent view of the necklace she wore; several layers of silver and crisply cut jade dropped down her neck and over her collarbone. The shining gems matched the glimmer of the tiara that sat prestigiously atop her head – which, Alfred realized, was much more elaborate than the tiara tat Lili wore. It was yet another sign that Lili, unfortunately, was not taken seriously as a Queen, unlike Elizabeth.

                “Believe it or not,” Elizabeth said as she reached over and picked a piece of lint off of Arthur’s shoulder. “I was on my way to speak to Kiku… But I can’t seem to find him. When I spoke to him before, he said something had been happening on the southeastern border of Hearts,” her eyes took on a sharp glint as she looked at Arthur. “Would you believe that?”

                Arthur pressed his lips together and his eyebrows drew down, but he didn’t speak. It was strange to see Arthur at a loss for words. Alfred wondered how Kiku even learned about the raid along the border between Hearts and Spades. From the geography he learned, the capital of Hearts was significant distance away from the town that had been destroyed. Had Arthur sent him a letter? No, Arthur had been designating his time contacting their faltering allies in the Outlands, not the Card Kingdom allies.

                “Oh, he said that an entire village was set ablaze,” Elizabeth murmured to Arthur in a hushed tone. Alfred hoped she was speaking quietly so no one would overhear the flubs of the Spades border patrol. Arthur’s hand gripped Alfred’s tight enough to make Alfred’s fingers hurt. “He said there was some sort of interference along the lines of Hearts and Sollace, to the north.”

                Arthur quickly reached forward to grasp Elizabeth’s hand, giving the warm woman a warning glance. “Things are going wrong,” Arthur growled indefinitely, pausing to let the Queen of Clubs absorb the information. “But, there is a chance we can change the way they are progressing.”

                Before Alfred had an opportunity to say anything, Arthur and Elizabeth were arm in arm, talking to each other in secretive tones while Alfred stood only two steps away. Though it was good that they were talking about how to better the odds against Samuel’s army, it meant Alfred was on his own for an unknown amount of time. Unlike Arthur, he wasn’t very good at speaking with strangers. It was so much easier to work with soldiers and talking to them during training regiments.

Unfortunately for Alfred, no easygoing soldiers stood in his line of sight. There was, however, a mountain of a man working his way through the crowds with a long, green coat and a serene expression. Alfred immediately smiled.

“Ivan,” Alfred sighed gratefully; at least he wouldn’t be alone, now. Ivan smiled and nodded at Alfred as he stepped around a group of older men. Alfred bowed his head a bit in return. “Good to see you again. I’ve been getting tired of talking to all of these fancy people.”

                “Fancy, you say?” Ivan said thoughtfully as his smile turned smug. “Well, everyone knows how much Francis likes flaunting his wealth,” he gave Alfred a sidelong glance. “And we _are_ in Diamonds.”

                “So, you’re saying, like… When in Rome, do as the Romans do?” Alfred wondered as he cocked his head to the side.

                Ivan looked alarmed as he looked at Alfred. “As the Romans do?” He said incredulously, as if it was a ridiculous concept. “I don’t understand.”

                Turning to the crowds of numerous royals and attendants, Alfred smiled. While Ivan didn’t understand Alfred’s other-dimension humor, he had a bit of trouble understanding the life of palace-folk. All around him were the unfamiliar lives of the rich and the rundown, and everywhere he looked, he saw fascinating stories and gleeful excitement. Almost each of these interesting details were different from the mundane life of Alfred’s old dimension, and it was a comforting change of pace.

A bronze skinned woman was fanning herself as several gentleman fawned over her and showered her in compliments on both her beauty and her warrior prowess. Two teenage boys were tripping over each other in their excitement to reach for the clear cups of brandy and scotch being brought around by the palace staff. Alfred shook his head when one boy tipped his head back and drank the entire glass of dark alcohol. To Alfred’s right, a girl who was no older than sixteen stood holding the hand of another girl, tracing the wrinkles in her palm and telling her that her beauty transcended time. Alfred looked away when they leaned into one another.

Looking back to Ivan, Alfred saw an adoring smile resting on the King of Clubs’ face. Ivan wasn’t watching the crowds, but was eyeing a delicate young woman at the head of the room. Following Ivan’s line of sight, Alfred watched Francis intensely flirt with a young lady in front of Lili. The platinum-haired woman seemed disinterested in the interaction, but never told him to stop. She seemed preoccupied with the way Lili was holding her hand behind her back. Alfred quirked an eyebrow at the sight; was the young woman in a polygamous relationship with Lili and Francis? No, the girl couldn’t be older than fifteen, and Lili was only fourteen. How could a little girl like that attract the attention of the Francis, who was twenty-six?

When Francis turned away from the blonde in order to catch the hand of a tall, bearded man walking past them, Lili was quick to pull the girl away from Francis’ line of sight. The blonde girl had a cold face and a stern expression for the rest of the members in the ballroom, but when she turned to Lili, a smile bloomed on her lips, and a blush illuminated her porcelain cheeks. Alfred sighed and nudged Ivan’s arm playfully with his elbow.

“So what’s up with that?”

Ivan didn’t look away from Lili and the girl at the head of the room. “My sister, Natasha.” Ivan breathed as he crossed his arms. “That is the girl who is with the Queen of Diamonds. They’ve been friends for years, but…” Alfred blinked slowly while Ivan shook his head. “Silly girl. She doesn’t understand that she loves someone she can never have.”

Alfred looked back to Lili and watched with a frown as Natasha laughed and whispered something in Lili’s ear. How could one little girl be given so much misfortune in one life time? With a stubborn huff, Alfred realized that there seemed to be a pattern appearing in the Card Kingdom royalty. Lili was trapped in a marriage with a soulmate that gave her no attention, Arthur had been tortured by his mother as well as his first husband, and Alfred specifically remembered Ivan saying that he had to save Elizabeth from some kind of danger. The more he learned about the royals, the more it seemed they were living through troubled lives. He didn’t even want to know the horrors that were hidden in Hearts.

                “That’s so… sad,” Alfred breathed honestly. “I mean, it looks like Lili really likes her, so…”

                “Ah, but Lili is married to Francis,” Ivan murmured, “And when she comes of age, Francis will start looking at her in the way someone will look at their lover.” Forcing a smile to his lips, Ivan held his hands behind his back. “In the meantime, we will let them dream. Lili’s soul will start calling to Francis soon… Until then –”

                “Let them be happy, right?” Alfred interrupted, gaining a melancholic smile and nod from Ivan.

                “Life among the palace is not as peaceful as it seems,” the King of Clubs said ominously with his ever-present smile. “And I hear that you have begun to learn this, yes?”

Ivan paused to let Elizabeth step up next to him and lean against him. Alfred felt Arthur lift up his arm and put it around his delicate shoulders, and Alfred happily pulled his husband closer. Arthur’s expression was neutral, but Alfred had a feeling that he and Elizabeth and been heatedly debating the politics of war only moments before. Ivan turned his full attention to Alfred and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Spades has been our ally for a very long time,” Ivan said in a forceful way that made Arthur press closer to Alfred. Ivan narrowed his eyes at Alfred, and Alfred didn’t dare to look away when he said, “And if you need our assistance, stopping Samuel or otherwise, we are prepared to fight.”

+++++

                “Well, this looks… tasty. I think?” Alfred said to Arthur as they sat at the large dinner table.

While the food on Alfred’s plate _looked_ appetizing, he wasn’t quite sure what it was. It reminded Alfred of the time his parents took him to the cities to eat authentic French cuisine. The night hadn’t gone well. Next to him, Arthur dipped his fork into a small dollop of grey goop and slowly put it in his mouth.

“Never fear,” Arthur said quietly after he’d swallowed. “This is actually quite delicious.”

Sitting back with a skeptical huff, Alfred looked around the dining room. The table they sat at was reminiscent of the table in Hearts, but the chairs were all lined with silver-colored velvet and studded with pearls along the seams. Arthur had mumbled something about Francis being cockish as he sat down, and Alfred couldn’t agree more as the dinner progressed.

More than once, Francis lifted his crystal goblet and toasted to the good fortune of another wondrous year in Diamonds. The guests obediently raised their wine glasses, and so did Alfred, only to set it back down next to Arthur’s plate without taking a drink. No wine for Alfred, tonight. He didn’t want to throw up right outside the palace; if he did, he’d never hear the end of it. Thankfully, Ludwig had chosen to remain quiet about the little incident. Or rather, he wasn’t given a chance to bring it up, given that Francis was _always_ talking over everyone else. If Francis wasn’t making a toast, he was taking about all of the good things Diamonds had been doing with marketing trades and other, less important, agricultural growth.

“… And have I mentioned that the line of horses bred here in the capital are said to be the most valuable breed in all the Western Isles?” Francis asked rhetorically with a smug curl of his lips.

Alfred smiled when Kiku raised his glass and spoke into the cup, clearly saying, “You’ve only mentioned it twice. Three times, now,” before he took a drink.

“Ah, yes,” Francis nodded to no one in particular as he continued his one-sided conversation with himself. “After the great harvest of flowers in the north, I can only imagine the revenues we’ll be getting from the Surrents. Don’t you think so, Lili?”

Lili gave Francis a quirk of her eyebrow and a smile before she turned to Natasha, who was sitting next to her and cautiously nuzzling her nose against Lili’s cheek when she thought no one was looking. Trying to avoid catching Francis’ eye, Alfred looked down to his plate and picked apart something he assumed was chicken. Taking slow, careful bites – he wasn’t quite sure what anything really was – Alfred slipped his left hand below the table and traced a circle atop Arthur’s knee while Francis continued his monologue.

“Hey,” Alfred leaned to his left and whispered in Arthur’s ear, “Where did Yao go? He’s been missing ever since…”

Blinking hard, Alfred realized he hadn’t seen Yao since they had first entered the palace. He was there, and then… He was simply gone. As if he’d never even been there. Arthur didn’t react to the concerned tone in Alfred’s words, and merely took a sip of tea before answering.

“He may have left,” Arthur murmured as Francis tilted his head back and laughed at something he had said to himself. “Yao isn’t one for parties; it’s most likely that he’s found an escort back to Spades already.”

Alfred jaw dropped. “Whoa, wait a minute, he can just leave?” Arthur nodded, and Alfred pushed the matter. ”Without us?” Another nod. “What happens if he gets hurt?”

Putting down his fork, Arthur gave Alfred a calm look as he spoke. “As I’ve said to you before, Alfred. Yao is a _very_ skilled fighter. Should he come across any trouble, he will utilize his skills most effectively.”

Making a disbelieving, grumbly noise, Alfred sat back in his chair and frowned. It was unfair. If Yao got to leave, why couldn’t he? Of course, there was some sort of Card Kingdom tradition to uphold, but he was getting more frustrated and bored as the evening progressed. Arthur looked ravishing – as always – and had been touching Alfred all night. His delicate hands would slide down his chest when he was talking to someone unimportant, and if he had a hand against Alfred’s back, it would write words into the small of his back.

The actions may have been meant to soothe Alfred, but it was making him antsy; Arthur was being very affectionate. Did this mean he was tired of waiting for Alfred to make a move? Hell, Alfred was tired of not making a move. He just wanted their first time to be… special. And, what was more special than convincing over twenty different Kings and Queens of Spades’ strength and capability? Alfred couldn’t think of a single thing.

He wanted to see Arthur relaxed and not constantly fussing over a small detail that could change the outcome of the war. He wanted to lay Arthur down on their bed slowly, and kiss his neck like Arthur had kissed Alfred’s neck once. He wanted to see Arthur grip the sheets desperately and loom over him with a smile. He wanted Arthur to be gracelessly breathless and delirious with happiness. He wanted it… But sadly, they were still at the Ball of Diamonds. Surely, matters of love were more important than Yao being bored. Alfred wanted to throw Arthur over his shoulder and wave goodbye as he stormed toward the exit, but Arthur would never have it.

So, unhappy with this turn of events, Alfred stabbed his fork into a small piece of celery and popped it into his mouth. It was cooked, but only just enough to warrant warmth; the vegetable was still crunchy on the inside while the outside was soft. Alfred swallowed and tried not to make a face. Next to Alfred, Elizabeth leaned over and spoke to Alfred directly in quiet, serious tones as Francis continued his soliloquy.

“Didn’t I see Yao talking to Kiku, earlier?” She asked fervently. Alfred shrugged. He had no idea what she saw. She continued, “Yes. Yes, I did. They were both very upset about something. I’ve never seen Kiku show that kind of distress in public.”

Looking to Kiku across the table, Alfred saw the Queen of Hearts duck his head shamefully. Ludwig gave Kiku a comforting pat on the back, and Kiku raised his head and sat forward in his chair.

“It was for good reason,” Kiku called across the table just loud enough that Alfred could hear. “I haven’t spoken to Yao in some time, so seeing him was…” Kiku paused, and Ludwig took his hand atop the table, not turning away from his own dinner plate. “It was good to see him, at the very least.”

Arthur angled himself toward Alfred and whispered, “Yao and Kiku are cousins. They lived together when they were young.” Alfred looked up at Kiku, and saw the lost expression on the Queen of Hearts’ face. Arthur continued, “Both of them cared for Leon very much; Yao most likely came to the ball tonight to tell Kiku what happened to Leon’s village.”

Alfred frowned at the news; the Card Kingdom royalty really were riddled with hardship and sadness. It was so common, it didn’t phase Kiku as he continued to eat. The death of a family member was just another drop in a sea of tears for him… Just like the loss of Arthur’s sister was just one more painful memory. Sitting back in his chair, Alfred gave Francis a bored glance before turning back to Kiku.

“I’m very sorry,” he said lowly, gaining a surprised flutter of Kiku’s eyelashes. “For your loss… I’m sorry.”

While Kiku made a flustered attempt to thank Alfred, Ludwig’s bright eyes held a subtle glimmer of admiration. Alfred felt his chest grow a little warm at the sight; being kind must’ve been an infrequent art with the royals, but it obviously mad a difference with the way Kiku wiped at his eyes delicately.

Francis raised his glass and declared, “I would like to propose a toast,” he paused as everyone raised their cups, and Alfred gave Arthur a bored look while Francis went on, “To the glory of Diamonds, its bountiful wealth, and,” Francis gave a pointed look in Arthur’s direction, “Its untamable passion. To Diamonds!”

While the other guests all gave an obedient cheer, Alfred remained silent as he put his glass down next to Arthur’s plate. Due to Francis’ words, Arthur’s mood was dampened, and he was watching the tabletop with a frustrated expression. Beneath the table, Alfred pat Arthur’s knee, hoping it would comfort him. The gesture put a smile on Arthur’s face, at the very least. And with that smile came the flutter of Alfred’s heart. The bit of happiness on Arthur’s face was a small ray of hope in an otherwise dark outlook.

“The night is young and the Ball has only just begun,” Francis said loudly, overshadowing the sweet words Ivan was whispering to Elizabeth. Francis turned to Alfred and narrowed his eyes with a snakelike smile.  “Diamonds is known for great extravagance, so I do hope that everyone is enjoying themselves.”

Alfred gripped the top of Arthur’s thigh and Arthur gave a surprised jolt, knocking his other knee into the bottom of the table. This resulted in several of the plates and most of the silverware in front of the nearby seats to clatter and shake. While Arthur made a flustered attempt to apologize, Alfred slid his hand away from Arthur’s knee and smiled at Francis, who was giving him an annoyed stare. Lili, however, was giving him a smug grin.

+++++

                “Oh, heavens,” Arthur groaned as the carriage shook and he knocked his knee on the wall. They had left the Ball almost two hours ago, and only a few minutes passed before Arthur had laid his head down atop Alfred’s thigh and started to complain about his feet. “I feel as if we _walked_ all the way to Diamonds… Oh, I’m much too old for all of this.”

                Alfred chuckled. “You seemed pretty happy when we were dancing.”

                “Of course I was happy,” Arthur sighed, sliding a hand through his hair as he spoke. “I was with you, hand in hand… I enjoy being close to you.” The carriage hit another pothole, and this time it was Alfred’s turn to groan as he knocked his head against the back wall. Arthur grumbled, “As soon as we sat down in the carriage, my feet started to hurt.”

                “You’ll feel better when we’re home.” Alfred said with a smile, pushing away Arthur’s hand from his hair so he could brush at Arthur’s golden locks. “Or maybe you can just sleep off the soreness.”

                Arthur heaved another groan, and Alfred smiled wider. Finally, after far too many weeks of Arthur panicking in the study and fretting in bed, Arthur was relaxed. The content – if not sarcastic – smile on his lips was a clear sign of improvement. Putting up with Francis’ cocky attitude was worth it, considering Arthur had a chance to reach out to several allies and strange kingdoms in a matter of minutes rather than weeks by pigeon mail.

                Needless to say, it had been a long night, and Alfred was more than ready to close his eyes and fall asleep. Tilting his head back to rest against the back wall of the carriage, Alfred took his glasses from his face and put them in his lap as he closed his eyes. He could hear the way Arthur was starting to breathe slowly and deeply, and Alfred was eager to follow suit. The steady thud of hoof beats against a beaten trail was soothing, and the slight rock of the carriage was comforting; they were finally going home.

                When the carriage jolted once more, Alfred was thrown from his seat, and Arthur was tossed onto the floor of the carriage. For one split second, Alfred felt a sick twist in his stomach. The carriage didn’t hit a pothole; it was being tipped over. Something had hit the side of the carriage, and know they were falling.

Alfred felt his head slam into the floor of the carriage, and his crown bit into the skin of his scalp. There was a sharp cry of pain from Arthur, and Alfred kept his eyes closed as he rolled with the movement of the carriage and fell into the far wall.

                “Alfred,” there was a pause in Arthur’s words and he exhaled heavily against Alfred’s face. Alfred inhaled the scent of mint tea, and tried to open his eyes. How long had his eyes been closed? Had he passed out? Something sticky was in his eyes, and there was something sharp digging into his back. Was Arthur on top of him? His sense of direction was skewed. “Alfred, are you all right? Alfred?”

                Lifting his hand to brush the sticky liquid from his face, Alfred quickly registered the warm stickiness as blood. Trying to think of how to answer Arthur, Alfred began to hyperventilate. He tried to open his eyes, but that only made the entire predicament more terrifying.

The inside of the carriage was dark, say for a small sliver of moonlight that came through the window that now faced toward the sky. It illuminated Arthur’s pained expression and trembling lips as he loomed over Alfred. Closing his eyes again, Alfred tried to arch his back up and away from the glass of the broken window beneath him, only to fall back down when the other door of the carriage flew open.

Looking up, Alfred saw heavily shadowed people and dark masks covering their faces. The realization hit Alfred with a force; Arthur shouldn’t have been worried about the Kingdom being unattended, he should’ve worried about the _royals_ being unattended. The sounds of blades scraping the sides of scabbards rung irrationally loud in Alfred’s ears, and before he could pass out from lack of oxygen, he heard a small trill. Almost like someone was trying to play a note on a flute, but wasn’t using enough air. Or… a blowpipe, like in the movies. Did those exist in Arthur’s dimension?

He heard Arthur gasp and jerk violently, and then the Queen fell slack against him. Alfred felt his vision grow even blurrier as his breathing became more panicked. He didn’t know what to do. He was bleeding and trapped in the bottom of the carriage, and for all he knew, Arthur had been poisoned. Their attackers were speaking to each other, but Alfred wasn’t focused enough to listen to what they said. He tried to reach up and shake Arthur awake, but he felt bogged down by something. A sharp pain in his thigh… Where did that come from?

Alfred looked back up at the open door, catching a hazy glimpse of the crescent moon, before he closed his eyes once more. He didn’t open them again.


	18. Timor

Alfred woke slowly and against his will. Though he wanted to keep sleeping, his body deemed the room much too hot to cling to sleep. And, if he didn’t get out of bed now, he never would. That would only make Arthur angry. So he opened his eyes slowly, ready for the glare of sunlight from their window, but he saw nothing in front of him. Thick blackness covered his eyes, and in a brief moment of panic, Alfred thought something was wrong with his eyes. He started to bring his hands up to touch them to his face and check if something was amiss, only to feel his wrists bound in front of him by some sort of thick twine.

It was absolutely the worst kind of place to be for a young man with claustrophobia. He was laying on his side in some sort of box, like a magician in a deathtrap. The heavy summer air was trapped in the box, and Alfred felt himself starting to sweat. As his breath started to quicken into short, panicked gasps, Alfred began to register the feelings of his surroundings. A cold hard surface sat below him and pressed against his back. When he tried to move away from the wall at his back, he collided with another solid object and heard a distinct grunt as a huff of air washed over his face.

"Alfred," the source of the breath whispered to him, bathing his senses in the warm scent of herbal tea.

"Arthur?" Alfred almost cried with relief, happy to know he wasn't alone. There would've been more relief if he had more room to breathe, but misery loves company, and Arthur was the only company he wanted.

Arthur shifted in his place in front of Alfred, giving out a small noise of discomfort before speaking again. "I see you're finally awake."

"'Finally?'" Alfred sputtered, reaching out with his bound hands and finding them captured by Arthur's own hands. The ropes around Arthur's wrists scratched at the sides of his hands, and it was humid enough to make his palms sweaty, but the contact was comforting, and he didn't dare pull away.

"I've been awake for almost twenty minutes now... I think," Arthur breathed softly, as if he was lightheaded. "I was afraid that you had some sort of head injury, and wouldn't wake up. I thank the gods that you did."

Alfred licked his lips, trying to ignore the way Arthur's hands trembled as he struggled to remain calm.

"Where are we? Is this some sort of Spades ritual?” Alfred tried to elbow open the layer that held them in their prison, only to hear the sad _thunk_ of his arm colliding with wood. Alfred swallowed nervously. “Please say it is. Please say we're not stuck here."

“I wish I could say it is, but unfortunately, it's not. Do you not remember last night?"

Alfred remembered riding in the carriage. He remembered starting to fall asleep on their way home, but he didn't remember climbing into a box. He had closed his eyes, and then... nothing. There was nothing but a large grey area where the rest of the carriage ride was supposed to be. Maybe Arthur’s suspicions were right, and he _had_ hit his head.

"No," he said softy, feeling Arthur exhale against their hands and make their already hot prison even muggier. "I don't remember... what happened?"

Arthur groaned, and Alfred heard the rustle and catch of fabric on the wood beneath them as his husband repositioned his legs.

"We... we were captured, Alfred. We were captured by Outland bandits that were most likely hired by Samuel. The trail we were on was supposed to be safe." Arthur gasped, curling in on himself as much as he could.

This resulted in his knees being pressed against Alfred's thighs, and the Alfred did his best not to snap at Arthur. He sounded breathless and in pain. What happened to him?

"It was supposed to be safe," Arthur repeated as he pressed his clammy forehead against his and Alfred's joined hands. "And now here we are, locked in a box in the middle of the Outlands."

“Arthur, are you okay?” Alfred questioned, squinting at the blackness around him until his eyes started to hurt. He still couldn’t see Arthur, but he could feel the softness of Arthur’s hair tickling his cheek, and his moist breath was overheating their clasped hands. Alfred opened his eyes wider, hoping to somehow absorb any light in the enclosure like a cat so he could see what Arthur’s expression was. “Arthur?”

“Erodentian,” Arthur said softly, flexing his fingers against Alfred’s and releasing the pressure before reasserting it. “It’s erodentian. I’ve never felt it before, but I… I know what this is.”

Alfred squinted at the name, struggling to remember what it meant before giving in and grumbling a low, “I don’t remember what that is… What is it? Did you teach me once?”

Giving out a breathless chuckle, Arthur shook his head, causing his hair to brush Alfred’s cheek. “I’ve rarely… Spoken to you about the wide variety of medicinal herbs that are used in Spades.”

Alfred closed his eyes against the suffocating darkness. “So, they gave you medicine. T-that’s good, right? Medicine is good.”

There was a pause in the conversation that lasted long enough for Alfred to feel uncomfortable. Arthur’s grip on his hands was starting to go slack, and Alfred felt the box shrinking in on him without Arthur’s comforting words.

“Arthur?” Alfred asked tentatively. More silence, and Alfred started to panic all over again. “Arthur, wake up. This isn’t funny,” he shook Arthur’s hands, and there was a sharp inhale form Arthur as he assumedly woke up. “A-Arthur? You’re scaring me… What is… The um… Eordenia?”

                “Erodentian,” Arthur corrected him softly, scooting closer to Alfred. Alfred didn’t dare say he was being crushed; there was something much more important to worry about. “It’s… I’ve seen healers use it when trying to treat painful injuries; they crush the plant into a paste form or make the injured person drink the juices,” Arthur pressed his forehead to his and Alfred’s hands, and Alfred felt his eyelashes flutter as he spoke. “It dulls the senses, and numbs the extremities. If enough erodentian is used,” Arthur stopped for a moment to groan miserably. “It can halt… The functions of the… The body. Oh, Alfred…”

                Alfred opened his eyes wide, and for a second, he thought he could see the outline of Arthur’s mussed hair, but darkness quickly dominated his vision, and Alfred found himself facing an oncoming breakdown. Leaning toward Arthur, Alfred pressed his lips to what he assumed was Arthur’s clammy forehead.

                “Okay. Okay, don’t freak out. We’re gonna figure this out,” Arthur murmured something unintelligible, and Alfred kissed his forehead again. “We’re gonna… Get you home, and…” Opening his eyes, Alfred frantically tried to see the interior of the box for a possible way out, but no such miracle appeared. “Shit. Just need to, uh, find a way out of here.” Silence. “Arthur?”

                “Yes,” Arthur slurred, as if talking properly wasn’t viable at the moment. “I’m… I’m awake. I’m here.”

                “Y-you… You gotta stay awake, baby. Can’t leave me here by myself,” Alfred laughed, all high-pitched and hysteric, before pressing himself closer to Arthur. “Don’t leave me alone.”

                “Wouldn’t… Dream of it, my love,” Alfred could almost hear the smile in Arthur’s words. “There are… Too many things… We need to do before I leave this world,” Without warning, Arthur gave an almost violent jerk, slamming his legs against the solid lid of the box. He curled in on himself again right after, using his fingers to clumsily claw at Alfred’s sweat dampened collar. “Ah… Alfred…”

Arthur moaned uncomfortably, and Alfred pressed closer, hoping that he could absorb the effects of the erodentian though contact. Alfred knew it wouldn’t work, but he was desperate. He couldn’t imagine Arthur dying. It made his chest clench painfully, and he felt dizzy; he couldn’t stand the idea of Arthur dying. But there Arthur was, quickly going numb from the inside out.

“We need to get out of here,” Alfred whispered fervently, lifting his head and searching frantically the box for a possible crack in the wall or release hatch. Would those even exist in this dimension? Alfred didn’t think to ask.

He ran his bound hands along ever surface he could reach, but he would only slide his fingers along rough, solid wood. Every few seconds, he would say Arthur’s name and wait for a reply, just to make sure that Arthur was still awake. Each time he would ask for Arthur, the lapse of time between the call and the return would grow larger. As Alfred dropped his hands back to the floor, he waited for almost a minute for Arthur to say something.

“Arthur,” Alfred gently prodded Arthur’s cheek with the back of his hand. No reaction. “Arthur? Please, wake up. Please.”

Fumbling with his bound hands, Alfred placed his fingertips against Arthur’s lips, then slid them down to press his middle and forefinger against Arthur’s jugular. A beat, much to slow to be natural, thudded dully beneath Arthur’s clammy skin, and Alfred felt his own heart kick into overdrive as if to compensate.

“Arthur,” he tried again, giving Arthur’s shoulder a shove. “Come on, wake up. We need to get outta here, we need to go home,” Arthur didn’t respond, and Alfred started to hyperventilate again. “Arthur, please wake up. Arthur!”

Alfred gave Arthurs shoulder another shove, this time sending Arthur rocking back against the side of their imprisoning box. To Alfred’s relief, Arthur moaned and shifted his arms just a bit.

“Alfred… I’m...” Arthur paused, and Alfred heard the rustling of fabric. It might’ve been a shrug. “You’re yelling.”

Alfred laughed just once in hopes of releasing some tension, but it only made his chest feel tighter. “Did you just notice that?”

“It’s becoming… Difficult to… To keep my eyes open,” Arthur huffed unevenly before he shivered a bit. “I feel cold,” Alfred frowned, and Arthur asked, “Alfred, is it cold?”

“No. No it’s not,” Alfred murmured sadly. “It’s hot. And really humid.”

“I can’t feel it,” Arthur said lowly, and then repeated in a quieter tone, “I can’t feel it.”

Knocking his bound hands against the top of their prison, Alfred struggled as much as he could without elbowing Arthur in the face. He kicked his legs furiously, and slammed his back against the side of the box, breathless and afraid. Alfred knew he had to get out of the box, but most of all, he knew that Arthur was more important. Something deep in his chest was screaming that Arthur was already fading away, crumbling away into tiny shards of dust. And Alfred… He couldn’t let that happen.

Alfred was breathing heavily enough that he was starting to feel nauseous, and he knew that the hot, humid air would eventually suffocate both of them. Licking his lips, Alfred squinted in Arthur’s direction, even though he couldn’t see his husband.

“Arthur?” A disgruntled noise responded, and Alfred struggled a smile. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get out of here. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Careful how you say that, young man,” Arthur’s voice dictated clearly, echoing eerily in the small enclosure. Alfred frowned; why would Arthur say that? There was a distinct pause, and then Arthur spoke again, in the same foreign, echoing inflection. “It sounds like a promise… But, is it a promise you can keep?”

Alfred huffed. “What kind of question is that?”

Before Arthur answered, light broke through the darkness of their prison, and Alfred closed his eyes tight. The light had come from nowhere, and burned Alfred’s retinas. It was like waking up in the middle of the night and turning the hall light on to find the bathroom, only to be blinded by his only guiding light. Letting himself get used to the sudden brightness, Alfred slowly opened his eyes, pausing every few seconds to close them again.

Pale blue light bathed the interior of the box, and as Alfred finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by Arthur’s smile. But, where Alfred used to seeing Arthur’s emerald eyes, there was nothing but two pools of blue. Iridescent blue filled Arthur’s eyes, erasing all form of his irises and turning the whites of his eyes into a baby blue paradise. Alfred blinked spastically at the phantasmagorical sight. Magic. It was the first time he’d ever seen Arthur use magic in person.

“Arthur,” he breathed, watching the way Arthur shifted to lay more comfortably on his side. Reaching out to Arthur with his sore hands, Alfred held Arthur’s hands tight. “Are you… The erodention. Aren’t you hurt? You said you couldn’t feel anything. Why… I mean, you didn’t…”

“Arthur’s soul called desperately for magic,” Arthur said gently, as if Alfred’s fears were nothing truly important. “That magic is what he was given. At this moment, the progression of erodention is halted, but you have precious little time until I can no longer be with you.”

Alfred made a face at that. “You… Wait, you’re not Arthur? Or are you? I mean, Arthur is talking to me, but like, in third person.”

Arthur laughed lightly, and when he did, he closed his eyes, causing the box to be dark again. When he opened them, Alfred could see his blissful smile once more.

“No, I am not Arthur. At the moment, he’s concentrating on his magic. I’m merely acting as a speaker on his behalf,” Arthur’s grasped his hands tightly, and Alfred almost winced at the grip. “Young King, you must decide what path you will take. My brother’s mind is fogged by erodention, and he cannot choose properly on his own. What will you do?”

“Your brother.” Alfred said flatly. The only sibling Arthur had was Juliana, but she was dead. Could Arthur’s magic reach beyond the grave? Was it possible to contact the unknown plain of those whose lives are over and those whose lives haven’t yet begun? Blinking his tired eyes, Alfred licked his lips and asked, “Are you Juliana?”

The smile on Arthur’s face lightened just a bit as he murmured, “He’s spoken of me?” When Alfred nodded once, Arthur – or, more correctly, Juliana – pressed forward with an excited laugh. “Oh, I can only imagine what he’s said about me,” another laugh, “That silly boy.”

“Actually, I read about you. He doesn’t really talk about you… I mean, we talked about you once, really briefly. But he doesn’t bring you up often… Or your mom.”

That didn’t seemed to deter Juliana in the least. In fact, she seemed a little relieved. With a soft sigh and a nod of Arthur’s head, Juliana breathed the words, “Oh, good. He dwells in the past too often. It makes him sad, the poor thing. Always sitting and pondering every sad bit of his life when he has time to himself.”

“I know,” Alfred said impatiently, wiggling his toes against the bottom of the box. “Anyway, you said that Arthur brought you here?”

“Yes. As I said, his soul cried for the magic of Spades, and thus, I was brought from the depths to provide him solace.”

Juliana paused, and Alfred watched in slight terror as Arthur’s eyes closed again. Darkness engulfed him once more, and Alfred waited nervously for the light to come back. But, what if it never came back? What if they had run out of time because they had talked too much, and Arthur was too weak to keep using his magic? Taking one deep breath after another, Alfred prayed for Arthur to open his eyes, even if it was Juliana that spoke to him, he wouldn’t mind. It would still mean that Arthur was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Sliding forward, Alfred pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, scrunching his eyes closed and wishing that Arthur would be all right.

“Don’t cry,” Juliana’s ethereal voice murmured to him, causing Alfred to sigh with relief. “You haven’t the time to cry. Come, King of Spades. What is your plan? What will you ask of me?”

Leaning back just a bit, Alfred looked at the wooden walls of their box. “Can you get us out of this box?”

Arthur blinked. “Is that what you want?”

“Well, I don’t really know what I can ask for,” Alfred spat indignantly. “Be more specific. What exactly can you do?”

“Arthur can reach beyond the borders of the living and the dead. He can force his way through and over the lines that separate dimensions. The Queen of Spades’ magic is mainly used for defense rather than offense. The attacking magic is commonly left to the King of Spades,” Juliana’s ringing voice paused before she repeated, “Now, what will you ask of me?”

Trying to think fast, Alfred forced his brain into overdrive. If he didn’t work fast, Arthur might now make it. Time was of the essence, and he would _not_ go back to Spades without Arthur alive.

“Um… Take us… Can you send us back to Spades? Like, a teleport or something?”

A scowl quickly formed on Arthur’s serene face, and Alfred frowned. “I cannot make you disappear or reappear. I could bend the lines and walls of dimensions around us, but I cannot change the location you are in; is there something else?”

Alfred gnashed his teeth together. “Well, if you could bend the dimensions… Couldn’t you send us back to my old dimension? They have hospitals. They can save him!”

“Wonderful!” Juliana commended with a relieved smile. “So this… ‘hospital’ commonly treats those who suffer from overexposure to erodention?”

“Well… No, they don’t,” Alfred growled. He was getting a headache. “I’m pretty sure erodention doesn’t exist in that dimension. I mean, it _might,_ with like, a different name or something, but Arthur’s already on a time limit.”

“That is very true.” Juliana agreed.

Alfred nodded. “We don’t want to waste time.”

“Very good, Your Highness.” Juliana commented again, waiting patiently with Arthur’s unblinking eyes.

Looking around the enclosure once more for a gap or opening, Alfred sighed. How was he supposed to think of a great magical escape that involved the two of them not being seen or heard by their captors? He needed a plan to get out of the box and back to a safe place, like Diamonds or Spades. Perhaps even a nearby village would do the trick.

Biting his lower lip, Alfred took a deep breath and looked back to Arthur. “If you were in my position… What would you ask for?”

Juliana’s voice rang clear as she said, “A miracle.”

Alfred growled and rolled his eyes. “No, seriously. I can’t think of anything! I can’t always wrap my head around magic and fantasy. My dad is a physics professor. I was taught to believe in science! To this day, I can’t really accept Arthur’s gods. I can’t even accept _one_ god,” Arthur quirked an eyebrow, and Alfred continued. “Can’t you just think of something for me? I don’t understand magic. I will _never_ understand it, so just get us out of here and make Arthur better!”

“I cannot force the erodention from his blood, Alfred,” Juliana said lowly, slipping Arthur’s hands away from Alfred’s and putting them flat against Alfred’s chest. “Do you want me to break open the box? Is that it?”

Alfred scoffed. “What, do I only get one wish? Like a shooting star, or when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “It is not a wish, young King. It is a request. Do you want me to open the box? I can break it into a thousand pieces right now, if you so wish.”

Alfred shook his head and closed his eyes. “No, no! Whoever caught us will hear it, and we’ll be in trouble all over again. I just… I want us to be home, and I want Arthur to be okay. I don’t… I don’t want Arthur to die. I just can’t –”

“Hush,” Juliana ordered. Alfred opened his eyes to see Arthur’s face contorted into a sad, almost tearful expression. “When you say things like that,” Juliana took a shaky breath, as if tears were imminent. “Arthur’s heart feels like it is breaking. I feel like I can’t breathe. Now, don’t cry, Alfred. I will keep my brother alive as long as I am able.”

“I’m not gonna cry,” Alfred grumbled to himself as he glared at the wall directly behind Arthur. He needed a plan. “Okay. Let’s just… Do something and run with it.” As Arthur nodded his head, Alfred felt a bit more confident. “Break the box open, but do it as quietly and humanly possible.”

The creak of wood echoed painfully loud in Alfred’s ears, and as it went on for several seconds, he began to fear that whoever had caught them would hear it. Alfred watched Arthur’s face carefully as the noise, however quiet it may have been, continued. Arthur’s eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was set in a straight line.

Before Alfred could ask why it was taking so long to open the box, the lid fell in and landed on Alfred’s left side. After the lid fell in, the sides of the box fell over, landing on plush grass. Alfred almost cheered with relief; the box was about to drive him crazy. Trees surrounded them on all sides, and Alfred was briefly reminded of the forest behind the palace of Spades. Without the walls caging them inside, Alfred looked up to see the sunset stained sky. Or was it sunrise?

Alfred couldn’t care what time it was as he slowly, carefully, pushed the lid of the box off of his shoulders and onto the grass with the other slats of wood. He then set to work untying Arthur’s bound hands and quickly as he could.

He could hear the light hum of conversation not too far away, and the glow of a campfire could be seen between the trees. The light belonged to their captors, no doubt. There was a large, canvas veiled caravan only a few trees away, but Alfred was more interested in the two horses that were loosely tied to trees next to him and Arthur.

After he finally untied the tight knots around Arthur’s wrists, Alfred looked down to the unfeeling, blue pools that were Arthur’s eyes, and ordered, “Untie me,” as he held out his wrists.

Juliana took the order in stride, immediately working the twine around Alfred’s hands without difficulty. Moments later, Alfred was up and rubbing his chaffed wrists tenderly. His skin was rubbed raw, and his wrists were painful to touch, but nonetheless, he was glad that he was out of the claustrophobic box.

Planning on taking one of the horses, Alfred got up on his hands and knees, minding the dizziness in his head as he did so. As he started to crawl toward the horses, he casted a glance back at Arthur every few moments, watching as Arthur’s body slowly but surely made its way into a sitting position.

“Okay,” Alfred said to himself quietly as he neared one of the horses, “Easy goes it, nice and easy, buddy,” Alfred stood up shakily, felt dizzy, and stumbled to the side a few steps. The nearest horse nickered softly, and its tail snapped back and forth impatiently. Alfred smiled and nodded, shuffling towards it carefully. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet you want to get out of here,” the horse didn’t really react, but Alfred took it as a positive response. “I want to get out of here, too. Need your help, buddy. Really need your help.”

As he tentatively gave the dark horse’s neck a solid pat, Alfred continued to whisper to it. With every grumble, Alfred shuffled closer to where the reigns were tied to the tree, and when he finally had a hand on the knot, Alfred turned to look at Arthur. The Queen of Spades sat on the ground, staring down at the discarded boards of the box as if they were the only interesting thing in the world. Alfred turned away from him and made quick work of the reigns, looking carefully at the campfire that was only fifty feet away as he started to tug the horse toward Arthur.

“Juliana,” Alfred hissed as he and the horse inched farther away from the Outland bandits and their campfire. “Juliana, what are you doing? Stand him up!”

Arthur’s head lolled forward, and Alfred nearly swore when Arthur started to fall sideways. He caught himself on his elbow, and there was a distinct grunt from Arthur that reverberated off of the trees.

“Shh! You’ve got to be quiet,” Alfred said urgently, as he reached for Arthur with one hand and held onto the reigns with the other. “Come on, stand up. Juliana, help me get him on the horse.”

Arthur huffed heavily, his shoulders sagging with the movement. “You… You overestimate how much strength Arthur has left, young man.”

A cold spark trickled down Alfred’s spine, and he gripped the reigns tightly as the horse shook its mane. “What does that mean?”

“Use your head, boy. When you think rationally, Arthur’s heart flutters.”

Alfred’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Are you saying that Arthur is about to die?”

Arthur’s head shook to and fro. “Oh, heavens. So serious. Arthur finds that endearing.”

Crouching down, Alfred scowled at the back of Arthur’s head as he hissed, “I don’t _care_ if Arthur thinks I’m acting cute, right now. I really, really don’t care if his heart is fluttering. I just want it to keep beating. So, stop dodging my questions and get his royal ass on this horse.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder, and as he started to shift onto his hands and knees, Alfred noticed the visible shake of his arms and legs. Alfred frowned; maybe Juliana wasn’t exaggerating. She was telling the truth; albeit, she told a little more truth than Alfred cared to hear. Pulling on the reigns to bring the horse closer, Alfred hooked a hand under Arthur’s trembling arm and yanked the Queen of Spades upward until he was standing. Arthur stumbled uneasily, and Alfred watched his wide, blue eyes fall shut when he tilted forward. Alfred caught him before he had a chance to collide with the ground face first, but Arthur was already slipping where Alfred held him against his chest.

“C’mon,” Alfred urged both Arthur and Juliana, struggling to hold onto Arthur and the reigns. “Just get him on the horse. That’s all I need. Do that, and Arthur doesn’t have to use his magic anymore,” crystal blue light bathed Alfred’s chest as Arthur’s eyes cracked open once more. When Arthur’s head tilted back and those eyes met Alfred’s, Alfred let out a quiet, “Please, help me.”

                Lifting Arthur’s trembling hands to the loose, worn saddle on the horse, Alfred gave the campfire one last considering look before he helped Arthur onto the saddle. He put Arthur’s left foot into the stirrup and held him steady as he gave a wobbling jump to get his right leg over the side of the horse. If Alfred’s grip had been any less, Arthur would have gone sliding over the horse and onto the ground on the other side. But, to their luck, Arthur remained in the saddle, bent forward with his golden hair almost touching the horse’s neck.

                “All right, that’s good,” Alfred whispered as he tossed the reigns over the horse’s head. He held them out to Arthur. “Hold these,” he ordered, and after a long pause, Arthur’s blue-colored eyes turned to the reigns slowly, and he halfheartedly took them from Alfred.

                Praying that he wouldn’t fall off the horse, Alfred easily mounted behind Arthur, scooting himself as close to his husband as he could. The seat wasn’t exactly built for two people, and Arthur was starting to lean to one side, but Alfred tucked and arm under each of Arthur’s and kept him stable.

Alfred was moving Arthur’s feet from the stirrups to make room for himself when he heard the echoing dissonance of Juliana’s voice on Arthur’s lips. He paused just to hear her say, “I’m at my limit… I can’t…”

Giving the horse’s sides a good dig with his heel, Alfred held Arthur tight as the horse began an easy walk forward, away from the Outland bandits. Alfred mused that being without Juliana from that point on wouldn’t be too terrible. The worst thing they had to worry about was either being trapped again, or Arthur succumbing to the slow, foreign death of erodention overdose.

With the way the light in the forest was dissipating, Alfred reasoned that it was indeed sunset. If they could lose themselves in the forest, the bandits surely wouldn’t be able to find them. But, it was a catch 22. If they indeed lost themselves in the forest, Arthur would no doubt run out time or energy, and would inevitably die.

Haphazardly steering his horse around a fallen tree, Alfred wrapped his left arm around Arthur’s torso and held him close so he wouldn’t fall. It seemed that Juliana was keeping a fighting hold on her brother, no matter how exhausted Arthur seemed to be. Half of Alfred was glad she was trying to keep him alive, but another half of him worried that Arthur was at the end of his rope, and was killing himself faster by using more of his magic. Sustaining two human souls in one body seemed a little farfetched, even for Alfred.

“Hey,” Alfred whispered in Arthur’s ear with a smile. Glancing behind them, he could see that the campfire was still crackling, and the voices of the bandits were quickly melting away in the dense forest. “We got away from them. We’re still alive. That’s gotta count for something, right?” There was a soft sigh from Arthur’s lips, and Alfred nodded to himself hopefully. “We’re gonna make it. You just have to hold on a little longer.”

“Wishful thinking… Young man,” Juliana breathing in a singsong tone, leaning back against Alfred a bit more.

Alfred felt his heartrate begin to slow, but that only made him worry. His soul was supposed to be calmed by Arthur’s soul, not Juliana’s. So, why did he feel an overwhelming sense of peace? It was quickly being overrun by paranoia and concern, but peace was still there as he tighten his grip around Arthur’s torso.

With the calmness that settled in his chest came pinpricks of pain along his arms and his back. Where Alfred had previously felt perfectly fine, a dull, throbbing pain was beginning to be registered. Perhaps adrenaline had stopped him from feeling it at first? Alfred huffed and tried to roll back his shoulders and relieve some of the tension in his back, but the muscles only screamed in protest, and Alfred curled close to Arthur for comfort.

“In pain?” Juliana’s reverbing voice asked. Alfred gave a breathless grunt in response; it felt like someone was pushing several small, hot knives into his back and shoulders. “I’m not surprised… Apparently, you fell into the broken glass of the carriage window... I would imagine it to be painful.”

“Great,” Alfred spat through clenched teeth. He didn’t remember broken glass, and he didn’t remember falling into it, but he vaguely recalled the carriage being tipped. That was probably when it happened. Alfred glanced out at the ever-darkening trees. “God, I don’t even know where I’m going.”

“To the east,” Juliana whispered, blinking Arthur’s luminescent eyes slowly before lifting a quaking hand to point. “You’re being searched for… I can feel the soul of a citizen of Spades. Fascinating. Arthur’s power is uncanny,” as Alfred quickly realigned the horse’s path and pushed it into a steady trot, Juliana sighed. “In a hurry, my King?”

“Arthur’s hurt,” Alfred said crossly as the horse plowed through a small ravine in their path. “He needs help that I can’t give him. So, yeah. I’m in a hurry.”

Juliana gave a soft chuckle. “You really do love him… I’m so envious,” Arthur started to tip to the side, and Alfred corrected him as Juliana said, “I wish I could have seen your wedding… I’d imagine it was beautiful.”

                “Can’t you just ask Arthur? You guys are in contact right now, aren’t you?”

                Another sigh. “He’s trying very hard… To keep his heart from stopping,” Alfred bit his lip and kicked his heel up again, feeling the horse move just a bit faster. “Perhaps you would regale me with the story?”

                Alfred huffed and snapped the reigns idly. His back hurt. His legs hurt. He felt dizzy. And now Juliana wanted a bedtime story? Blinking slowly, Alfred opened his mouth and told Juliana about the wedding. He told her about how he was nervous, and how he almost missed his cue. He told her how beautiful Arthur looked dressed in silver and white, standing on the balcony with all the royal presence of the world. Then he told her their vows, and how terrified he was that he wouldn’t live up to Arthur’s expectations. He spoke about how special it felt to have the crown put on his head, and the glimmer of pride in Arthur’s eyes as Alfred looked up at him.

By the time he had finished telling Juliana about how Arthur had soothed him from his anxiety attack, they had exited the forest, and Alfred could see an endless field of grain in front of them. On the horizon, the sun hung drunkenly on the tree line, casting the world in an amaranthine haze. Through the pain in his back and the dizziness of his head, Alfred smile.

“We made it,” he breathed, hugging Arthur to himself tightly. “Look, we made it. Juliana, see?” He shook Arthur a bit, but there was no reaction. Arthur’s eyes were closed, and no voice, Arthur’s or Juliana’s, came from his pale lips. Alfred shook Arthur again, even though he knew nothing would come of it. “Juliana?” He asked quietly. His chest clenched painfully, and he buried his nose in Arthur’s neck. “Thank you.”

“Your Highness!”

Alfred’s eyes snapped open and he turned to his left to see Cherche, their royal carriage driver and horse groomer, atop a horse, galloping toward them. At first, it seemed like a mirage, but as she kept coming, a large group of soldiers rode behind her. Even from a distance, Alfred could tell that the emblems on their chests were the shining symbol of Diamonds. In front of the soldiers, just behind Cherche, rode Vach, the Jack of Diamonds. Alfred almost cried with relief.

“Your Highness,” Cherche said again as she pulled her horse to a stop next to him.

Her long, brown hair was tied back in a braid, but most of it had fallen out, and framed her face messily. As soon as she dismounted, she rushed to Alfred and grasped at the tattered edges of his coat as she spoke to him in broken sobs.

“When… When the carriage tipped, I knew I couldn’t fight them. I-I know it was cowardly of me, b-but, I took Wynd and rode back to the palace of Diamonds,” she indicated to the horse behind her with a jab of her thumb, and Alfred gave the horse a tired look before glancing back down at Cherche. “I should have… I should have s-stayed, and fought for my King and Queen, but… But I’m no fighter, and I am not a knight. I ha-have no excuse…” Cherche hiccupped and wiped tears from her face, not daring to say anything more.

Vach walked up behind her calmly, taking the reigns from Alfred’s slack grip and giving the Queen of Spades a considering glance.

“What happened? Where are your captors?” His green eyes turned steely with determination. “We will make them regret this degradation against our allies.”

Alfred blinked slowly, watching the way the soldiers of Diamonds blurred together. Vach put a steadying hand on his side to keep him upright, and Alfred looked down at him in surprise. Had he been falling?

“They… Arthur has been poisoned by erodention,” Alfred said lowly. Vach’s eyes widened as he looked at Arthur, and then back to Alfred in alarm. “And, I’m pretty sure I hit my head somewhere in there,” squinting down at Cherche’s tear streaked face, Alfred nodded to himself just once. “I guess, just like Juliana, I’m at my limit.”

Alfred fell from the saddle and Arthur came with him, toppling down onto a distraught Jack of Diamonds.

+++++

                “Alfred,” a familiar voice called to Alfred in his sleep, gentle and prying at the cloak of dreams that covered Alfred’s eyes. Alfred felt his eyes scrunch as he turned toward the voice, and a soft breath of laughter washed over his face. A warm, careful hand slid over his forehead, and soft lips kissed his cheek, but Alfred didn’t dare to open his eyes. “Alfred, my dearest love. You must wake up eventually.”

                “Arthur,” Alfred breathed, opening his eyes slowly to see a hazy vision of his husband. From what he could see, Arthur was smiling at him warmly, and the hand on Alfred’s cheek brushed a thumb over the ridge of Alfred’s cheekbone idly. Alfred looked as close as he could at Arthur’s eyes, noting that they were, in fact, their normal, emerald green. Arthur was back to normal; not suffering from the poison of erodention and not using his dead sister as a place-holder. Then again, they could just be meeting in purgatory. Alfred smiled wider and asked, “Am I dead?”

                The pleasant ring of Arthur’s laughter made Alfred’s heart melt, and he closed his eyes again while Arthur passed his other hand through his hair.

                “No, you’re not. I would never let that happen.”

                Alfred hummed a low note, and Arthur continued to pet his hair, mindful of some strange wrapping around Alfred’s temple. Not bothering to open his eyes, Alfred lifted a hand to brush along the fabric that was wrapped around his head. He knew what gauze felt like; he’d been a rough and tumbling young boy, once. And whatever was wrapped around his head was very much like gauze, secured with a thick, stiff fabric that scratched Alfred’s fingertips.

                “Bandages,” Alfred said softly.

                Arthur continued to pass his fingers through Alfred’s hair as he spoke. “Yes. You hit your head, darling… Do you not remember? When the carriage tipped, fell and hit your head first.”

                Giving a disgruntled noise, Alfred frowned. He didn’t quite remember that. He remembered the edge of his crown cutting into his scalp. Alfred’s eyes opened quickly. Where _was_ his crown?

                “My crown is gone,” he said in disbelief. He didn’t want to get up, but Arthur should at least know about this urgent information.

                Arthur merely nodded down at him with a smile. “Yes, it is. After Vach and the Diamond Knights found the bandits, they found our crowns and other belongings. They’re being cleaned, at the moment.”

                Alfred nodded and shifted a bit so that he could lay on his stomach more comfortably. His left hand felt light. Too light.

                “My wedding ring, too?”

                “Yes, they had your ring. It’s sitting on the table behind me. Would you like it back?”

                Alfred closed his eyes again. “Maybe in a little while.”

                “Very well.” Arthur said warily as he combed through Alfred’s hair.

                Alfred opened his eyes again. “My glasses are gone, too.”

                “Are you going ask me about every item that has gone missing?” Arthur ask incredulously with a roll of his eyes.

                “Only the important ones,” Alfred said with a tired pout. “I need my glasses to see.”

                “They’re on the table. Would you like them, now?”

                Alfred closed his eyes again, feeling a little more peaceful. “No… Can’t wear ‘em when I’m lying down.”

                Alfred huffed, and pat his hand on whatever piece of furniture he was lying atop. Cracking his eyes open just a bit, Alfred gave the room around him a wary onceover. The walls were lined with a light, yellow paint that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight that seeped through the drapes and into the room. They never had that kind of paint anywhere in the palace of Spades where Alfred had seen. When Alfred tilted his head just a bit, he could see that he was laying on a soft featherbed. All of the blankets had been stripped away, and the only decoration on the bed was a soft, down pillow that rested under Alfred’s head.

                Wriggling a bit on the bed to get comfortable again, Alfred noted that there were more of the bandages wrapped around his chest and back, making up for Alfred’s lack of clothing. At least Alfred could tell he was still wearing his trousers.

                “I’m not wearing a shirt,” Alfred said giddily. Arthur giggled at that, and Alfred gave him a fond look. “Look while you can, Arthur. I might randomly die at any time. Get your fill.”

                Arthur’s laughing stopped quickly, and Alfred say that fear that glittered in Arthur’s green eyes. “You won’t die, Alfred. As I said, I wouldn’t let that happen,” Alfred closed his eyes as Arthur leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “As long as I draw breath, I will not let you die, Alfred. I swear that, here and now.”

                Alfred smiled lazily. “That’s so romantic.”

                “Is it?” Arthur questioned as he began to pet Alfred’s hair again, gently pulling at the snags in Alfred’s hair until he could pass his fingers through the hair without hindrance. “I’m happy you think so.”

                With a quiet yawn, Alfred sighed into his pillow, “I met Juliana.”

                Arthur’s hands paused for just a moment, and then continued. “Yes. I know.”

                “She was nice. Kinda hard to talk to, though.” Alfred nodded to himself, as if this was valuable information that Arthur needed to know.

                “Is that so?” Arthur said with a hum, sliding his hand down from Alfred’s hair to caress between his shoulder blades. Alfred breathed out an appreciative sigh.

                “Yeah,” when Arthur’s hand went back to carding through Alfred’s hair, Alfred whispered, “I was scared. I thought you weren’t gonna wake up.”

                Alfred could almost hear the smile in Arthur’s words when he said, “I heard you calling for me, just out of reach… I’ve never been so desperate to stay alive.”

                Though Alfred didn’t quite understand, he lifted his hand to reach out blindly for Arthur, not bothering to open his eyes. Arthur caught his hand quickly, setting it down on the mattress and giving it a comforting pat.

                “I’m so happy you’re alive… I’m so happy I met you…” Alfred yawned, and finished with, “And I’m happy I’m married to you. Happy I fell in love.”

                “Oh, dear…” Arthur sighed. “Still dizzy, darling?”

                Alfred frowned. “M’not dizzy. I’m just tired. I’ve always been happy that I met you.”

                “Oh?” Arthur said soft as he leaned forward to kiss Alfred’s forehead again, this time lingering just long enough to whisper against Alfred’s skin, “I’m happy I met you, as well. Now, rest… In the morning things will be better, I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	19. Incitatione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very, very brief mention of self-harm. It doesn't really happen, but I thought I'd let you know.  
> 

                “Good heavens, Alfred,” Arthur sighed as he slowly, carefully, moved down the iron step ups of the carriage. Alfred stood in front of him, holding both of Arthur’s hands tightly to support him. Arthur’s trembling legs nearly gave out as he stepped onto the solid stone path that lead to the front doors of the palace of Spades, but Alfred was there to step forward to let Arthur lean against him. Arthur sighed again. “You’re more injured than I, so how is it that you’re devoting your time to helping me?”

                 Alfred sighed and shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, bracing his hands on Arthur’s hips and locking his arms as Arthur shakily regained his balance.

                “You almost died,” Alfred said crossly.

                “But I didn’t.”

                Arthur tried to take a step forward, but he stumbled; it was as if his feet were numb, and he couldn’t quite tell if he was standing or not. Alfred frowned at the thought and held Arthur closer as the Queen made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

                “I listened to your breathing get slower,” Alfred tried again, this time with a hearty grunt as he hefted Arthur up by his hips and set him back down on his feet. Arthur didn’t react to the movement aside from grasping Alfred’s shoulders tightly and giving out one, small gasp.

                “But my breathing never stopped.”

                Scowling, Alfred watched as Cherche jumped down from her driving perch and began to lead the horses and the carriage away on foot quietly. Just a few steps behind them, the capital city was bustling with energy; children were laughing, men were shouting at one another, and a woman was shouting for her daughter to come back across the plaza. It seemed that even though Arthur and Alfred had been captured and the borders of Spades were frail and breakable, none of the people of the capital gave any sign that they knew.

                For almost two days, Alfred and Arthur had been housed in the palace of Diamonds, recuperating with Lili and investigating with Vach. Though Alfred wasn’t allowed to see it, Lili used whatever magic Diamonds granted her to pull the erodentian from Arthur’s body, bit by bit, over the course of the two days. Alfred was told that he woke up after sleeping for seventeen hours straight, only to talk to Arthur for ten minutes, and fall asleep for another twelve hours. But, now that Alfred was on his feet and still wrapped up in bandages underneath his shirt and vest, he had the energy to help Arthur through the movements of every day.

                Lili warned Alfred that Arthur would still be uneasy on his feet for the next few days, as the effects of erodentian were meant to last. This only made Alfred uneasy; erodentian was labeled as evil in Alfred’s eyes, so the fact that Arthur was still feeling the aftereffects of the drug was painful to watch. As Arthur regained his footing carefully, Alfred gave a frustrated huff.

                “You can try to brush it off as much as you like,” Alfred said, pausing to growl as Arthur’s fingernails dug into his bicep. Arthur loosened his grip, and Alfred continued, “But, you almost died, and I’m not going to let it go any time soon.”

                While Arthur gave another dissatisfied grumble, Alfred looked up to see several people rushing toward them. Yao was at the head of the pack, running despite the many layers of robes that he always wore. His expression was dark and serious, as if he was read to deliver bad news, but before he could part his thin lips, Fredrick barreled into Arthur with almost enough force to knock him over. Alfred held Arthur’s shoulders as he began to careen backward, keeping him upright as Fredrick clung to his waist.

                “Your Highness,” Fredrick choked out. Alfred and Yao watched him passively as Arthur slowly stroked Fredrick’s hair. “They thought you wouldn’t return. But we waited for you! I was so sure,” he glanced up at Arthur with watery eyes, “I was sure you’d return. I _knew_ that you and the King would come back to us.”

                Arthur hesitated to speak, visibly unsure of what he could give as an excuse for their delayed return. Alfred watched as his jade irises darted from Fredrick’s hair to Yao’s disapproving expression. So, unsure of what to say or how to comfort Fredrick, Arthur looked to Alfred with tired eyes.

                “Welcome home, Your Majesties,” Yao said cautiously, as if welcoming them would somehow break the illusion, and the King and Queen would vanish. When Alfred nodded respectfully, Yao’s shoulder’s relaxed from their stiff line, though his dark tint never left his kind eyes. “It’s good to have you home safely.”

                Blinking slowly at Yao, Alfred looked down at Fredrick’s content smile. The boy had his cheek resting comfortably against Arthur’s chest, and his small arms showed no sign of letting loose. Arthur leaned on Alfred with a little more of his weight, and Alfred gave a tentative smile.

                “Yes,” Alfred sighed, “It’s good to be back home.”

                “Fredrick,” Arthur grunted as he pat Fredrick’s sandy hair once more. “Fredrick, my dear boy, this is starting to hurt.”

                Fredrick loosened his hold with a sheepish smile, but when Arthur looked down at him, Alfred could see that Arthur’s smile was tired and strained. When Fredrick took a step back, Yao began ushering him, as well as several other members of the palace staff, back inside to tend to whatever duties they had. Alfred watched them go quietly, only smiling when one of them chose to look at him. A few woman wiped relieved tears from their eyes, and several men pat each other’s shoulders comfortingly.

                Arthur and Alfred trailed them slowly, bogged down by Arthur’s uncoordinated limbs. When their trembling steps finally brought them to the front door, Yao was waiting for them with his same serious, disapproving expression.

                “We heard about the attack,” he said lowly through tight lips. Alfred gave him one sidelong glance before he refocused his attention on Arthur’s heady-lidded eyes. Yao waved for the guards to shut the doors behind them as he spoke again. “Outland bandits, they said. Our allies have yet to get wind of it, but I suspect –”

                “If they haven’t heard yet, it’s merely a matter of time,” Arthur breathed, tipping forward until Alfred caught his chest and pulled him up, into an embrace. Arthur’s chin was tucked into Alfred’s neck, and his heavy arms hung limply at his sides. Alfred held him closer.

                “Is there any way we can track the attack?” Alfred asked as he gave Yao a questioning glance. Yao’s dark eyes flashed with recognition, and his chin lifted a little bit, as if he had been issued a fascinating challenge. Alfred nodded once. “If we can track exactly _which_ Kingdom sent out the attack –”

                “We can pin down Samuel’s strongest allies,” Arthur finished for him, patting Alfred’s waist softly. “Such a smart man. I’m married to such a smart man…”

                Yao and Alfred exchanged a look. Arthur needed rest almost as much as Alfred needed an aspirin for his spinning head. Alfred knew there was too much happening in Spades; pinning down one of Samuel’s allies probably wouldn’t do them very good, but if they did, they could avoid something like this happening to their own allies. It was just one unfavorable choice over another. Fight one enemy to lessen the crushing blow, or leave them, and have the world end faster? Alfred sighed. Their lives were starting to go through the spin cycle in the washing machine, turning much too fast for them to keep up. At least Yao was willing to give it a running start.

                “I’ll start my research right away, Your Highness.” Yao said sternly as he nodded his head.

                Alfred nodded in return. “Good. They used erodentian; I’m not sure if many Kingdoms use that as a poison, but they sure knew what they were doing…” Alfred’s eyes narrowed as Arthur shifted in his arms.

                “Blowpipe,” Arthur breathed softly, gaining the attention of both men. “They used a blowpipe, Yao. Commonly used in the –”

                “Southeastern Kingdoms and islands,” Yao said quickly, his eyes widening in magnificent understanding. “They practice isn’t executed in the northern or western kingdoms because of the traditional practice of the swords. Brilliant, Your Highness,” Yao gave Arthur a solid pat on the arm, and Arthur grunted uncomfortably. Yao was off and jogging down the hallway before Alfred had a chance to speak, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll begin drafting letters immediately!”

                That left Arthur and Alfred standing in the grand, empty throne room silently. Though there were two guards standing by the doors behind them, Alfred still felt an overwhelming sense of peace that normally came over him when he was alone with Arthur, and only Arthur. The Queen of Spades slid his hands up Alfred’s back slowly, sending nervous, excited sparks up and down Alfred’s spine.

                “I haven’t felt this tired for years,” Arthur breathed into the soft, silver fabric of Alfred’s vest. “It’s as if I’ve gone back to the days before you were in Spades,” a sad sigh, “So many sleepless nights…”

                Alfred shrugged. “Well, at least you’re not dead.”

                Arthur snorted derisively. “You really aren’t going to leave that alone, are you?”

                “No, I’m not. I will never let it go.” There was a pause where Arthur said nothing. His hands merely clung to Alfred’s shoulders as Alfred pressed his cheek to Arthur’s golden hair. “I _can’t_ let it go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

                “I’m getting the strange sense that you’ve said this before…” Arthur murmured into the fabric of Alfred’s vest, the hold on Alfred’s shoulders loosening as he started to fall asleep.

                Bending at the waist, Alfred hooked an arm under the back of Arthur’s knees and pulled him up into his arms. It pulled at the bandages on his back, and his back groaned with strain, but Alfred didn’t bother to care. He watched carefully as Arthur’s head lolled back, against his bicep, and the way Arthur’s expression crumbled. There was a strangled, confused noise in the back of Arthur’s throat, and Alfred smiled.

                “Time for bed, sweetheart.”

                Arthur didn’t open his eyes as he murmured, “I think you may be right.”

+++++

                Alfred had nightmares. They weren’t of monsters lurking in the recesses of the castle, and they weren’t of crazed murderers holding chainsaws to his neck. No, they were quick, jarring clips of sound that cut into his soul; Arthur’s scream, the sound of his hands pounding against wood, Arthur gasping for breath. Flashes of light and blurred colors stained Alfred’s eyes, only to be washed away slowly when he wrenched his eyes open. Firelight receding in the dense forest, a flash of a crescent moon, and eyes that were so impossibly blue.

                When Alfred _did_ wake from his nightmares, he felt as if he was drowning, and he was more than willing to claw his way to the surface. He only wanted to breathe. He wanted the echoing remnants of Juliana’s voice to be lost beneath the sound of Arthur’s comforting heartbeat, and the horrifying glint of a sword in moonlight to disappear beneath the shadows of nighttime.

                It was there, no matter how much he wanted to it go away. The horrific, terrifying memories of being captured and poisoned. If he was awake, Alfred wouldn’t remember them. He _couldn’t_ remember them. No matter how hard he tried to think of Juliana’s resonating voice murmuring peaceful encouragement, he couldn’t remember what she had said. If he tried to think of the magical, mystifying color of Arthur’s eyes during the ordeal, he could never describe it. The memories only came back to him when he was sleeping, crashing down on him with enough force to make him sit up in bed and scream for air.

                And that’s what he’d been doing for an entire week after they came home to Spades.

                “Alfred,” Arthur would say quickly as he sat up with him, wrapping his warm, shaking arms around his shoulders. “Alfred, my love, my darling,” his breath tickled Alfred’s ear, and Alfred took short, panicked gasps as his eyes adjusted to the dark bedroom. Arthur sighed, and pressed his cheek to the back of Alfred’s neck. “Deep breaths, dearest. Deep breaths.”

                Sucking in one lungful of air after another, Alfred allowed Arthur to drag him back down against the pillows. When Arthur kissed his cheek, Alfred’s wide eyes fluttered shut. As Arthur moved down to kiss his shoulder, Alfred felt his racing heartbeat slow dramatically. Alfred took another, much more peaceful breath, and Arthur sighed against the skin of his chest.

                “It’s all right,” Arthur breathed as he shifted to lay on his side, cradling Alfred’s head to his chest. Alfred hiked up his chin and pressed his face to the side of Arthur’s neck, feeling the quick, anxious throb of Arthur’s pulse. “Everything is all right.”

                That was a lie. Samuel’s army had been spotted along their borders in all directions. No matter how many allies they reached out to for help, and no matter how many grand strategies they worked out, their optimism was proving to be a failure. They were being surrounded. Bit by bit, more information came flooding from each direction. “Closing in,” and “building numbers,” were the most concerning, but Alfred was still bothered by Arthur’s present ignorance.

                Nothing was all right. Everything was going wrong. Even Alfred himself, the hopeful optimist and loving caretaker, was being bogged down by the jolting truth; Spades was floundering beneath the growing forces of its enemy. And there were few precious things that they could do to prepare themselves, let alone defend against the oncoming attacks.

                Wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist, Alfred took another deep breath. “It’s not all right,” he murmured. In his arms, Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “Arthur,” Alfred said carefully. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” No answer. “Aren’t we?”

                There was a heavy silence that settled between them as Arthur debated what to say, but Alfred didn’t care what his answer was. He already knew.

+++++

                “These past few days have been passing by in a blur,” Alfred said quietly as he sat inside on a chilly, rainy evening. Arthur sat on the other side of the dinner table, stirring his tea quietly as Alfred looked out the window at the rain-pummeled garden. “It’s as if the past week had nothing of interest to report.”

                “Is that so?” Arthur mumbled softly before he lifted his teacup to his lips. When Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur hesitated to take a drink, choosing instead to give Alfred a sad, longing stare over the rim of his cup.

                “I’m tired.” Alfred stated with a slow blink.

                Arthur lowered his teacup. “Perhaps you should go to bed early.”

                “I don’t want to sleep.” Alfred replied, watching Arthur carefully.

                Arthur’s face scrunched up in distaste, as if Alfred had somehow become a lime and his words were far too sour for Arthur’s tongue.

                “If this has to do with your nightmares, Alfred, I’m sure there is some sort of charm –”

                “I don’t want to sleep,” Alfred repeated, thoroughly interrupting Arthur. “But I’m tired.”

                Heaving an annoyed sigh, Arthur threw his hands into the air and shook his head. “Well, I simply do not know what to tell you, Alfred.” Arthur turned his disapproving glare to the window, looking at the garden as if it was the cause of all wrong. “You refuse to acknowledge logic.”

                Alfred licked his lips; he had to execute this plan perfectly. He’d been working on the idea for almost three days. One wrong move, and Arthur would either laugh or be endlessly frustrated. It was now or never. If he didn’t move now, they could be attacked by Samuel’s army tomorrow, and there would be no time for any such leisure. It was now or never.

During the Ball of Diamonds, Alfred had been bombarded by Arthur’s longing glances and subtle touches. They were both waiting for each other to make a move. Now that they were home and safe, Alfred was more than willing to jump first.

                Sliding out of his chair, Alfred walked around the table to Arthur’s chair, watching as Arthur’s eyes looked up at him questioningly. There was something hidden in those eyes, Alfred knew. Something hot and expectant. Alfred saw a glimmer of it as he stood over Arthur.

                “I’m tired,” Alfred said once more, taking one of Arthur’s hands and walking away from the table, dragging Arthur with him. Arthur stumbled away from his chair, and didn’t object as Alfred continued across the room slowly as he murmured, “I’m tired of waiting.”

                With one forceful tug, Arthur was caught against his chest, pinned close by Alfred’s strong arms. Arthur’s eyes flashed a dangerous message, but Alfred didn’t have time to comprehend it as their lips collided messily. Arthur’s hands gripped his biceps so tightly, it was almost painful. Alfred responded by leaving bruises on the curve of Arthur’s hips; he was sure the imprint of his fingerprints would linger on Arthur’s hips for years to come.

                “Alfred?” Arthur gasped against Alfred’s lips, his voice echoing hotly in Alfred’s mouth until he swallowed it up with another kiss.

Arthur made a confused noise, and Alfred kissed him again, stopping only to press Arthur against the wall. There, Alfred set his plan into motion. He knew what he would do to excite Arthur, to show him he was ready and wasn’t willing to wait for any outside interruptions. He planned it all. He knew what to do. Ducking his head down, he kissed just under Arthur’s jaw, hearing the telltale sound of Arthur’s breath hitching. Alfred smiled against the skin of Arthur’s neck, sliding his hands up from Arthur’s hips to untuck his shirt from his trousers. Arthur’s fingernails started to bite into Alfred’s bicep, and Alfred heard Arthur’s breath come to him in quick gasps.

“N-now, just a moment,” Arthur breathed, arching forward a bit when Alfred’s hands slid along the exposed skin his back. “Alfred, wait – Alfred!” when Arthur forcefully dug his fingernails down into Alfred’s arm, Alfred leaned back in confusion.

Wasn’t this what they had both wanted?

Alfred sat back, keeping his hands pressed against the small of Arthur’s back as an anchor that kept him from drowning in embarrassment. Why had Arthur stopped him? They both wanted to do this, so why was Arthur the one to hesitate? He was supposed to be the experienced one that knew how the ins and outs of sex, and Alfred was supposed to be the confused, stuttering virgin. Where had they gone wrong?

                Arthur watched him carefully, his green eyes nearly drowning in the large recesses of his dilated pupils.

                “This isn’t like you,” he said slowly and carefully, as if Alfred was a different person, and he wasn’t quite sure how to interact with him. “Using all this force, all at once… it’s a bit sudden, my love.”

                “It’s not sudden,” Alfred argued fervently, leaning forward to press his warm forehead to Arthur’s. “We… I mean, I’ve wanted to do this for a while, now.”

                “Yes,” Arthur breathed slowly, tilting his head back as if he was going to kiss Alfred. He didn’t. “But… why _now_? Of all times?”

                Alfred hesitated; didn’t Arthur know? Couldn’t he feel the tense energy between the two of them? Every night they went to bed, Alfred was tense and waiting for Arthur to roll over and kiss him senseless. With every brush of their hands, Alfred was left wanting more and wanting for _give_ more. He wanted to make love to Arthur, and he knew that they wouldn’t have much idle time to themselves soon.

                “I… I wanted to, well,” Alfred made a vague noise in the back of his throat, and Arthur pursed his lips as he raised his eyebrows. Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, we don’t have much time to ourselves, these days,” he said softly. Arthur gave a nod, and Alfred went on, “I’m working with the soldiers most of the day, and you’re normally working with generals; we don’t get time to just… indulge ourselves.”

                Arthur paused, took a breath, and let his eyes flutter shut. “ _Indulge ourselves_ ,” he whispered softly, sending less than appropriate sparks of interest down between Alfred’s legs. Arthur bit his bottom lip and smiled, “What an interesting way to describe making love.”

                Giving a shaky nod, Alfred pivoted his head and kissed Arthur’s ear, pausing only to smile when Arthur sighed. With just those few exchanged words, every movement between them seemed smoother. The languid slide of Arthur’s hands over his arms seemed much more sensual, and when their lips met, Arthur’s reaction was much more relaxed than earlier. Their smiles made it difficult to kiss, but neither of them minded; they knew what they wanted. Now was the time to ask and receive.

                They staggered away from the dim dining room to travel back to their bedroom. Every few steps, Arthur would grasp the collar of Alfred’s shirt and pull him down for a kiss; Alfred would always lean into the kiss happily, grasping at the buttons of Arthur’s vest and unbuttoning them with shaking fingers. Ten more steps, and Arthur was tripping over Alfred’s feet as he was pushed against the wall.

When Alfred pressed a wet kiss to his lips, Arthur’s hands ran along the seam of Alfred’s clothing, stopping at only at his belt and giving it a solid tug. This resulted in their hips being slammed together, and Alfred gave a breathless grunt at the sensation of his erection being ground into Arthur’s hip. Arthur moaned in approval, canting his own hips forward to press his arousal against Alfred’s thigh.

“The – the bedroom,” Arthur breathed, “Gods, Alfred… we need to get to the bedroom.” Alfred leaned an inch away from Arthur’s face, staring into Arthur’s pupils that were wide and dark with arousal. His slender fingers reached up to grasp at Alfred’s hair, pulling Alfred down into a heated kiss. Arthur pulled back and shook his head, as if Alfred was acting irrationally. “What if… Alfred, someone might see.”

“Hell, let ‘em see,” Alfred scoffed gave a careless, hard pull to the sides of Arthur’s vest, hearing the fabric tear and the strings snap as several of the buttons were ripped away.

Arthur must’ve found the forceful display arousing, because he let out a breathless gasp as his knees visibly trembled. Smiling, Alfred let his hands wander over the smooth plain of Arthur’s white shirt, pressing his fingertips to the rising and falling plain of Arthur’s pectorals before sliding down to grip Arthur’s sides and pull the smaller man against himself. Arthur let out a huff of air at the movement, catching himself on Alfred’s shoulder and breathing hotly against the exposed skin of his neck.

“Alfred… Alfred, please,” Arthur stood on the tips of his toes and kissed Alfred’s ear before catching the soft skin between his teeth. Alfred’s eyes closed, and his legs nearly gave out. Arthur released his earlobe and kissed the abused skin. “I want you, Alfred. I really do; but, I’d like this to be done properly. In a bed, behind closed doors.”

“Where no one will see,” Alfred summarized through the thick haze of lust that coated his thoughts.

Arthur nodded, but didn’t pull away until he murmured. “And no one will _hear_.”

Alfred nearly picked Arthur up in his arms and sprinted for the bedroom. He’d never felt so urgent to touch Arthur. Never before had his hands itched to rip away the fabric of Arthur’s shirts and muss his gold spun hair. The sweet, slow kisses that they often shared had no place here, now. There was electricity in the air as Alfred stormed down the hallway to their bedroom with Arthur’s hand in his. The magnetic pulse of the Bond of Ages drew them together, and fitful unrest made them impatient.

Pushing the door open, Alfred was spun around and forced backward into the room as Arthur kicked the door shut. The slam was enough to upset a vase on a nearby table, but neither man gave any notice to the sound of shattering glass as they stumbled toward the bed. Arthur’s vest was peeled away by Alfred’s clumsy hands, and Arthur’s dexterous hands flicked open Alfred’s own vest faster than Alfred could comprehend.

The back of Alfred’s knees hit the corner of the bed, and when he fell back, air was knocked from his lungs. Arthur was quick to crawl onto the bed with him, undoing the clasp of Alfred’s belt and giving a ruthless tug, pulling it from Alfred’s belt loops with a solid _snap_. Alfred’s eyes went wide; it seemed Arthur would be taking charge from there.

Not wasting any time, Arthur cupped Alfred’s face and ducked down to kiss him, holding Alfred down as his tongue traced the seam of Alfred’s lips. Feeling his eyebrows draw down in concentration, Alfred slowly, tentatively, opened his mouth and allowed Arthur’s tongue entrance. The hot, wet slide of Arthur’s tongue against his own should _not_ have been arousing; but as Alfred’s flexed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Alfred moaned and reached up to grab at the fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur only paused the kiss to slip his hands from Alfred’s face to fumble with his shirt. “Sit up,” he ordered tersely, puling at the collar of Alfred’s shirt again.

Alfred robotically followed the instruction, sitting up and lifting his arms up when Arthur pulled the hem of Alfred’s shirt up and over his head. Alfred made a confused noise when his glasses caught on the fabric, but when Arthur threw away the shirt, Alfred’s glasses fell back down onto his face gracelessly. Every movement was knocked down into slow motion as Arthur took his time to explore Alfred’s newly exposed skin.

The touch of Arthur’s hands was soft enough to be a feather as they slid over Alfred’s collarbone, but as Alfred bit his lip, Arthur traced a slow, careful line down the center of his torso.

“Alfred?” Lifting his eyes guiltily, Alfred realized that he’d been staring at Arthur’s hands intensely on their journey, waiting for the inevitable moment that they’d slip beneath the waistband of his trousers. Arthur’s acidic eyes watched Alfred closely, his eyelashes fluttering just a bit before he leaned forward to kiss Alfred softly. “You must be sure, my love. You’re ready?”

“Yeah,” Alfred said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m ready. I want to do this; I want to have sex with you. I want to do this with you. Just you… only you.”

Though the words were meant to be reassuring, Arthur hesitated. It was understandable; Alfred was inexperienced and eager. The combination didn’t inspire confidence. In fact, it inspired ideas of awkward questions and encounters… but Arthur was considerate, and willing to wait. If that didn’t mean there was trust between them, Alfred didn’t know what it was.

Trying to reassert himself, Alfred repeated, “I’m ready,” as he took up the hem of Arthur’s shirt and quickly started to lift it. Complying, Arthur lifted his arms and allowed Alfred to take the shirt away.

Alfred had been struck speechless before; when he was young, he saw a beautiful girl named Angelique at school. Her beautiful brown hair was like silk, and her smile was that of an angel’s. No matter how much he wanted to talk to her, his tongue always felt numb when she looked at him. When he heard the state choir sing an ode to fallen soldiers on Veteran’s Day, Alfred had been so moved, he hadn’t spoken to anyone for an hour. These examples were all well and good, but they didn’t capture the intense feelings Alfred experienced when he saw Arthur’s bare skin.

                Although Arthur was light, he was extremely fit; long sleeves hid his lean arms, and well-defined muscles flexed anxiously when Alfred slid his palms across Arthur’s stomach. His skin was fare, like porcelain, and to Alfred, it was softer than any silk he’d ever touched. In short, Arthur was beautiful, and Alfred had only removed his shirt. But, there was a cause for worry.

                There were scars. Small, thin lines that littered Arthur’s sides and stomach. They looked like they were caused by a blade, and Alfred knew what it meant for someone to cut themselves. But these cuts were far too wide and large to be from a razorblade; less than self-harm, it looked like someone had stabbed Arthur multiple times. That couldn’t be the case, Alfred reasoned with himself; if it were, how was Arthur still alive?

                Glancing up to Arthur, Alfred furrowed his brow nervously. “Arthur?”

                Arthur’s heated eyes took on a glint of affection. “I’ve been alive for a very long time, and though you may find it hard to believe, not everyone adores me the way you do.” He took a deep breath and straddled Alfred’s hips, bracing his hands on Alfred’s shoulders. “My life has been threatened more than once, my love.” Alfred looked down and traced a scar that marked a line just under Arthur’s breast; it was a miracle Arthur’s lung hadn’t been punctured. Arthur shifted uncomfortably beneath the attention, cocking his head to the side as Alfred continued to look at the scars carefully. “Alfred, it seems your intense eagerness from earlier has vanished… do you want to stop for the night?”

                Alfred corrected his glasses, took a breath, and shook his head. “No. I don’t want to stop.”

                It just added a new level of pain and sadness in Arthur’s life. No one person should be subjected to so much as still be able to smile the way that Arthur did, but there he was, looking down at Alfred with an open expression. Alfred looked up into the green eyes that he had come to adore. He loved Arthur. And as such, he wanted Arthur’s good memories to outweigh the bad. His life had been threatened a dozen times over, his mother despised him, and his first husband had been verbally abusive; Alfred had his work cut out for him.

                Tilting the way that he sat, Alfred pushed Arthur back until he was laying on the mattress, effectively flipping their positons. After making a surprised noise that rang off of the walls, Arthur gripped the blankets beneath himself as he looked up at Alfred expectantly. Alfred couldn’t deny that look. Getting down between Arthur’s open legs and leaning his weight onto his elbows, he ducked his head and kissed the scar that sat just under Arthur’s heart. This kiss was followed by another to a different scar, and another to a jagged line above Arthur’s bellybutton.

                Each kiss was reciprocated with Arthur’s breathless words of praise, several of which were lost when Arthur simply turned his head into the blankets and moaned Alfred’s name. Alfred had intended to make the experience a sweet one; more caring than arousing. But with the way Arthur arched his back and called his name in a wanton tone, Alfred couldn’t help but notice the heated throb of his erection in his trousers, and Arthur’s erection pushing stubbornly at his stomach.

                Pausing his ministrations to Arthur’s abdomen, Alfred rested his forehead on Arthur’s heaving chest and took a shaking breath. “Arthur?”

                Arthur gave a breathless huff, and the bed groaned beneath their weight as Arthur arched his back a bit. “Yes… oh, yes. Alfred, what do you want? Name it, and it’s yours. Anything you want.”

                Alfred moaned as his cock twitched at the sound of Arthur’s voice, and he crawled up the bed to loom over Arthur with heavy-lidded eyes. “Arthur, I want _you_. Let’s do it. Right now.”

                Arthur didn’t respond beyond grabbing Alfred’s neck and pulling him down into a sloppy kiss. A leg hooked around Alfred’s hip, but he didn’t have time to react to it as he was pushed down against Arthur, grinding their erections together through their trousers. Both men moaned at the final grant of friction, but they knew that it wasn’t nearly enough. They both wanted so much more.

                Alfred couldn’t reach down to struggle with Arthur’s trousers. If he put his hands down, he would fall forward and head-butt Arthur in the face. That certainly wouldn’t do much for the mood. So, Arthur went first, sliding his thumbs beneath the band of Alfred’s trousers and holding them there as he hiked up his chin to kiss Alfred. The touch of Arthur’s hands was electric, shocking Alfred’s body with blissful torture and sweet pain. The longer those hands remained stationary on his hips, the more Alfred grew impatient. He wanted Arthur’s soft hands to travel over his chest again, he wanted to see Arthur’s lips parted around short, uneven breaths, and he wanted Arthur to feel more pleasure than he’d ever felt before in his life.

                Just before Alfred could simply roll off of the bed and pull down his pants, Arthur gave a swift pull and took Alfred’s pants down to his knees. Alfred was still kneeling over Arthur, so his trousers were effectively stuck, but that didn’t seem to bother Arthur. Though Alfred was completely ready to take Arthur and let himself be taken, he couldn’t help but feel the heavy drag of insecurity weighing down at his limbs as Arthur ducked his chin to look at him.

                Arthur stared down at his flushed cock with wide-eyed rapture and Alfred bit his bottom lip. What if he wasn’t as good as any other partner Arthur had been with before? Would Arthur simply settle for less, and be disappointed? Would he tell Alfred what should and should not be done? As Alfred continued to ponder the great possible downfalls of his sexual escapades, Arthur caught his face in his hands and forced him to look him in the eye.

                “Alfred,” he breathed, his eyes wide and lips still parted around each astonished breath. Alfred swallowed, shifting nervously on his knees as he looked back and forth between Arthur’s deep, green eyes. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

                Feeling his face burn, Alfred shook his head and rolled away from Arthur, trying to undo the buckle at the top of his riding boots and pull them off so he could remove the rest of his clothing. Arthur, however, was not eager to join the process. Instead, he lingered behind Alfred, sliding his warm hands down Alfred’s arms as his chest was pressed to Alfred’s back. Alfred could feel the quick, excited flutter of Arthur’s heartbeat against his shoulders, but didn’t say anything as he continued to battle with his shoes.

                Arthur made it difficult, sliding his skilled hands down his chest and crawling them back up with his fingernails slightly digging into the skin. When Arthur started to kiss his neck, Alfred let his head fall back and his hands go slack beneath the attention. Arthur was a so much better at foreplay than he was, and Alfred was almost convinced that this was the happiest he could be. But when the buckle on Alfred’s boots finally snapped open, he was forced back to reality, and he threw his left boot across the room, soon followed by his right. After his trousers were flung against the wall gracelessly, Alfred turned around and met Arthur’s eyes eagerly.

                There was an amused smile playing on Arthur’s lips, and Alfred tried to capture it for himself in a kiss. No one else was allowed to take that smile, now; only Alfred was. In the privacy of their own bedroom, that smile was given to Alfred alone. It made him feel secure as Arthur’s fingers tangled in his hair messily. There was a blur of movement when Arthur moved away to remove his boots, and as he did, Alfred tried to best to reciprocate Arthur’s earlier actions.

                When Arthur slipped one boot from his foot, Alfred kissed the nook between Arthur’s neck and his shoulder. As the other boot was pulled away, Alfred slid his hands over the curve of Arthur’s hips, thumbing the edge of Arthur’s trousers anxiously. Licking his lips, Alfred straightened his glasses shakily as Arthur braced one hand on the mattress, lifted his hips, and pulled his trousers and pants away, letting them fall to the floor.

                Alfred didn’t get time to take a breath before he was pushed back down, against the mattress. Looming over Alfred, Arthur’s cunning eyes slowly journeyed from Alfred’s hair to his feet at an excruciatingly slow pace, giving Alfred a chance to look at Arthur carefully before he had to remove his glasses.

Every bit of Arthur’s skin was pale, given that he spent the majority of his time inside, tending to the mountains of paperwork that ran the kingdom. His legs were just as muscular as his arms from long walks across the palace and tending to the garden every day. What really caught Alfred’s attention was Arthur’s hard cock, straining forward and pulsing slightly with each heartbeat. Alfred felt his own erection ache painfully at the sight; he wanted to feel it, to know how warm it was in the palm of his hand. He wanted to hear Arthur struggle to string words together as he stroked him slowly, and he wanted to see the obvious euphoria written across Arthur’s face during the heavenly release of orgasm.

Gripping the blankets beneath him tightly, Alfred swallowed a thick mouthful of saliva before he moaned wantonly. Arthur’s left hand trailed down his stomach, and every so often, Arthur would glance up at him, watching his expression carefully as his hand landed at the base of Alfred’s cock. One smirk from Arthur, and Alfred was panting and curling his toes in anticipation. Banishing his green eyes back down to Alfred’s cock, Arthur gave Alfred two agonizingly slow strokes, watching with unbridled delight as Alfred ached his back and bucked his hips up.

“Ah… Arthur,” Alfred gasped opened his eyes wide to stare up at the dimly lit ceiling. His body moved on its own accordance, trying to ride out his arousal against Arthur’s hand. Arthur gripped the base of his cock, not allowing such a travesty to occur. A whine tore its way from the back of Alfred’s throat, and he closed his eyes tight as he grasped at the sheets. “A-Arthur… no one’s ever… nobody’s ever touched me like this…”

Arthur gave Alfred one more stroke. “I know,” he smiled fondly, as if the information was more endearing than nerve-wracking. Arthur leaned forward to press a kiss to Alfred’s parted lips, and whispered, “This means I will be the only one to leave my handprints in your skin.”

Alfred let out a gasp as he lifted his hands to Arthur’s bare skin, letting them travel down the pale flesh until he found the cusp of Arthur’s hips. There, he hesitated only for a second before he let his right hand fall between Arthur’s parted legs and grasp the hardened flesh. Arthur gave a full-body jolt forward as he dropped his jaw and let out a hot, “ _oh_.”

Their hands knocked together clumsily, and more than once, Alfred was told to loosen his grip, but the erotic slid of skin against skin was taking its toll. Alfred’s skin was stained red with a dark flush, and his chest was not safe from its dark splendor. More than once, Arthur bent down to kiss the burning skin, moaning unintelligible words against the skin while Alfred thumbed the head of his cock.

“Oh, Alfred – yes, that’s…” Arthur clenched his teeth and took a sharp breath through his nose. “Heaven, help me… I can’t hold on any longer.”

With that, Arthur’s hand disappeared from Alfred’s erection to reach across the bed. It required a little bit of crawling, and Arthur nearly fell off of the bed, but he reached into the drawer of his bedside table to withdraw a small vial. Alfred didn’t bother to ask what it was.

“So,” Alfred breathed heavily, taking off his glasses and setting them by the only light that illuminated the room. Arthur’s trembling fingers struggled with the small stopper at the top of the bottle for a moment before it opened with a _pop_. Alfred swallowed nervously as Arthur tipped some of the slick contents onto his fingers. His view was a little blurry, but he could still tell that Arthur was warming the oily substance with his hands. “Um… Are you gonna…?” Alfred made a vague noise in the back of his throat, and Arthur turned to look at him with burning irises. “Or am I?”

Arthur paused. “I had assumed that I would… I have more experience taking the lead in this situation, Alfred. I’d rather our first time be more pleasure than pain.”

Alfred nodded willingly; he was scared, but he could deal with that logic. He was afraid of pain, and he was sure it’d hurt either way, but Arthur was confident. Confidence had to count for something, right? After Arthur capped the vial, he crawled between Alfred’s legs once more and held his held his finger pressed against Alfred’s entrance, respectfully waiting for him to relax.

“We’ll take things slowly,” Arthur promised while Alfred’s thighs flexed nervously. “I’ll do my best to make this a pleasurable experience.”

“Y-yeah,” Alfred grunted. Arthur’s fingers were still a little cold against his skin, and the feeling was foreign… could he really do this? Shaking his head, Alfred tried to force himself to be calm. “Let’s do this.”

                Arthur hummed affirmatively, shifting his hand and pushing his middle finger up and into Alfred. The reaction was immediate. Alfred gasped as pain trickled up his back and down his legs. Though he tried to keep still, he couldn’t stop his reflexes that made him kick at the blankets while his hands knotted in the sheets. It was just a finger. One little finger… so why did he feel so afraid? Why did it hurt? He could feel his muscles contracting while he struggled to accommodate Arthur’s finger, but Alfred was far too overwhelmed.

Arthur leaned forward to look into Alfred’s wide eyes. “Alfred? Are you trying to kick me?”

“N-no, I’m just,” Alfred felt his back arch uncomfortably, pushing Arthur’s finger deeper. He fell back against the bed with a startle gasp that echoed off of the walls. “Stop! Let’s stop! I changed my mind!”

 “Really?” Arthur said breathlessly, pulling his finger away with a relieved sigh. “Very well, we’ll stop.”

With a defeated frown, Alfred threw an arm over his face and huffed sadly. This wasn’t right… was it? He was supposed to be a horny teenager. He was supposed to _want_ sex. Hell, he knew that he wanted it. So why was he so scared? His erection was quickly fading away, and he kept his arm over his eyes as the bed dipped beneath Arthur’s weight. Arthur was probably disappointed.

Parting his lips slowly, Alfred felt Arthur pet his hair as he let out a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Arthur echoed confusedly. “Whatever for, poppet?”

“I’m supposed to want this,” Alfred sighed, feeling Arthur kiss his forearm softly. “I’m supposed to want you,” Alfred took a breath and shook his head quickly. “I mean, I do! Don’t get me wrong, I… I want you, I just…”

“There’s no shame in being afraid, Alfred.”

Alfred lowered his arm to glare up at his fuzzy view of Arthur’s smile. “I’m not scared.”

“Then, why are you crying, my love?”

                Alfred opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t, but Arthur’s fingers brushed over his cheeks and back into his hairline, wiping away the cold trails of tears. Tears that Alfred had no idea about. He’d been so focused on the strange, biting pain that he couldn’t feel his own tears rolling back into his hair. But Arthur had. Arthur had noticed every worry and every qualm. He’d been so patient… but he’d been waiting to love his King for over one hundred years. Why couldn’t Alfred give him at least one night?

                “I’m… not. I’m,” Alfred’s breath trembled on his lips, and Arthur leaned forward to kiss his shuddering frown. “I’m not crying, I just… I don’t want to be scared.”

                “Fear is natural, love. We can wait,” Arthur leaned back and laid down on the bed. “I’ll wait for you.”

                Alfred felt his heart ache at the mention of Arthur waiting. He’d been waiting for so long. He survived being married to a tyrant and several threats of war, and even though Alfred was scared of a little pain, he was still patient. He wanted it so bad…  Alfred took another shaking breath as Arthur’s fingertips brushed over his chest.

                “I don’t want you to wait. I don’t wanna,” Alfred frowned as another tear rolled back into his hair. His eyes stung, and his throat constricted anxiously, but he couldn’t care. He wanted to show Arthur that he loved him, and he wanted to make love to him, but if he was scared, Arthur wouldn’t go any further. It was respectful, but Alfred couldn’t help but feel like an idiot. “I don’t wanna make you wait anymore. _I_ don’t want to wait anymore.”

                “Alfred, my dearest, please,” Arthur sat up and pressed a kiss to Alfred’s lips, then his chin, cheeks, nose, and finally, he kissed around Alfred’s eyes until they fluttered shut. “Don’t be upset. Honestly, I didn’t expect us to simply fall together perfectly.”

                “But… but we’re supposed to! We’re meant to be together, so –”

                “Ah, yes. The Gods made a wise decision when they brought us together,” Arthur kissed Alfred’s eyelids slowly, catching stray, salty tears on his lips. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be afraid. Everyone expresses and feels their love a different way. Sex is one possible outlet, but,” Arthur’s hands slipped down to brace themselves on Alfred’s chest while he caught Alfred’s bottom lip between his own and dragged it slowly between his teeth. Alfred felt a blush race across his cheeks and down the back of his neck. Arthur pulled back just an inch to exhale slowly against Alfred’s open mouth. “There is more than one way to please your lover, Alfred.”

                Alfred swallowed. “Yeah?”

                “Indeed,” Arthur hummed as he made a trail of kisses that chased a bead of sweat down Alfred’s neck to his collarbone. “There are so many different ways to savor you…”

                The word ‘savor’ sent sparks of arousal down between Alfred’s legs, igniting his formerly lost interest. But, no matter how interested he was, he didn’t want to be the bottom. He was scared. But was it right to stick Arthur with that position? It would hurt, and he didn’t want Arthur to be in pain. It wasn’t fair.

                “Arthur,” he breathed while his husband crawled down to place slow, open-mouthed kisses to his chest. Arthur’s hands were wandering again, sliding over Alfred’s blush-stained chest and down his abdomen. Alfred was worried about just how far Arthur was willing to go. If they were going to do anything, Alfred wanted _both_ of them to feel pleasured. Not just himself. “H-hey, where are you going?”

                Arthur hummed against Alfred’s pectoral before lifting his head and look up at Alfred. They held that stare for a moment, not saying anything while Alfred’s heart thudded nervously. Arthur shifted over until he could get himself between Alfred’s legs, muttering a quick, “Down,” in response to Alfred’s question.

                Before Alfred could ask exactly what the word “down” involved, Arthur kissed the sensitive skin of his stomach, sliding his soft lips over Alfred’s skin until he could kiss his hip. Alfred gasped and jerked beneath Arthur, feeling pinpricks of exotic, erratic pleasure running up and down his spine as Arthur went back to kissing his stomach. When Arthur shifted down to breathe hotly against Alfred’s cock, Alfred subconsciously bucked up, toward him. Arthur was quick to brace his hands on Alfred’s hips and hold him down against the mattress.

                “Ah – Alfred,” Arthur scolded softly, glancing up at Alfred through a fan of honey-colored eyelashes. Alfred tried to take a deep breath, but as Arthur lowered himself back down, he didn’t look away from Alfred. “For now, you should stay still for this part.”

                With wide eyes, Alfred watched as Arthur lowered his gaze to Alfred’s cock. And as Arthur parted his lips, Alfred gasped and sat up, reaching for Arthur’s hair and pulling him up harshly. Arthur shouted and scrambled to move with Alfred’s hands, scratching at Alfred’s hands as they gripped his hair.

                “W-wait! Not that,” Alfred said solidly, panting heavily as Arthur made a disgruntled noise and continued to claw at his hands. “That’s… th-that’s not… I don’t want that.”

                “What?” Alfred growled, still pulling at Alfred’s hands, “What person doesn’t want to be pleasured by their lover?”

                Stopping to actually debate the question, Alfred’s hands relaxed, and Arthur began to massage his fingers through his hair. He’d only stopped Arthur because he wanted his first time to be _with_ Arthur, not just _by_ Arthur. If he was going to have sex, oral or otherwise, he wanted Arthur to be satisfied as well.

                Arthur sat forward, sliding his fingers over Alfred’s sweat-dampened skin slowly. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked quietly, pressing his palms to Alfred’s chest. “If you wanted me to stop, you could have said –”

                “No, I just…” Alfred sighed, shifting uncomfortably as his erection started to ache dully. “I want both of us to feel good. Not just me.”

                As Arthur’s eyebrows knit together in thought, Alfred swallowed thickly. He was probably frustrated. Alfred stopped him from having real sex, and when he tried to change the way he did things, Alfred simply stopped him again. In hindsight, Alfred knew he was being stupid. Couldn’t he just do this? Couldn’t he just give Arthur one night?

                “Alfred, why do you…” Arthur paused, rethought his statement, and tried again, “I think you’re confusing yourself, darling. Both of us _will_ feel good,” He leaned forward to place his hands on Alfred’s thighs, sliding them up to Alfred’s hips. “If I do this for you, I’ll feel very good.”

                Alfred bit his bottom lip as Arthur began to push him back against the pillows. “Really?”

                “Of course,” Arthur purred as he pressed a kiss to Alfred’s lips. “And, if at any moment you wish me to stop, I will.”

                “Even if I say it randomly?” Alfred asked breathlessly as Arthur kissed his chest.

                Arthur hummed against his pectoral, “Even if you say it randomly.”

                Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but when Arthur kissed his sensitive stomach again, his head dropped back against the pillow and he moaned loudly. The sound must’ve encouraged Arthur, because he started to kiss across his stomach more, pausing every so often to nip at the crest of Alfred’s hip. When Alfred tried to speak again, Arthur slid his hands along the underside of his thighs, and Alfred started to pant desperately. Nothing had ever felt so _good_.

                “ _Oh_ … Arthur,” There was an immediate pause in movement as Arthur looked up at him with wide eyes. Alfred huffed and looked at Arthur through a thick haze of excitement, reaching out to brush hair form Arthur’s eyes. “What… what if I don’t want you to stop?”

                Arthur blinked slowly, then smiled. “Then I won’t stop.”

                Without a second thought, Arthur leaned down and kissed the top of Alfred’s aching erection, sending all sorts of sporadic, exciting messages to Alfred’s brain. The world narrowed down to nothing but the bedroom, and when Arthur started to kiss down the side of his cock, Alfred couldn’t think of anything except the sensation of Arthur’s lips.

                Arthur’s hands traced the line of Alfred’s thighs slowly until he stationed them back on Alfred’s hips, holding him securely to the sheets. Alfred’s head lolled to the side, pressing his cheek into his pillow as Arthur continued to kiss along his cock. There was only a fraction of a pause, and Alfred looked down to see Arthur waiting for him, watching Alfred’s expression carefully as he parted his lips, and finally took Alfred into his mouth.

                The resulting moan from Alfred echoed off of the walls of the room, and it should have been embarrassing, but when he squeezed his eyes shut, he felt the vibrations of Arthur’s own moan along his member. Gasping for breath, Alfred clawed at the sheets as Arthur sucked softly, taking more into his mouth with every slow bob of his head. Every slide of Arthur’s tongue sent bolts of pleasure through Alfred’s body, and as Arthur began to suck a little harder, he felt his hips start to tremble.

                Not quite thinking, Alfred bucked his hips up, against Arthur’s hands. The resulting sound from Arthur was a worrying, desperate gagging sound, but as Alfred pried his eyes open to look at Arthur, he only saw Arthur’s pink lips stretched around him. There was the slick, glisten of saliva dripping down until Arthur bobbed his head and sucked it away.

                “Ah… ah! Arthur!” Alfred grasped at the sheets again, and when he opened his eyes, he could see Arthur’s green eyes looking up at him anxiously, as if he was worried he was doing something wrong. But, god, he _wasn’t_. He was doing everything right. Alfred threw his head back against the pillows. “Uhn… Ah, Arthur!”

                Taking the garbled call of his name as praise, Arthur moaned softly again, and Alfred felt the hot rush of air from Arthur’s lungs before his tongue flexed and made Alfred’s head spin. Alfred’s back arched, and he couldn’t catch his breath, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. One of Arthur’s hands disappeared from Alfred’s hips, and when he opened his blurry eyes to see where it had gone, he saw Arthur stroking himself slowly. Alfred moaned again, feeling his body tense like a coil ready to snap.

                “Arthur… Arthur,” Alfred tried to warn Arthur, but his husband gave one particularly hard suck, and Alfred bucked again. Feeling Arthur’s throat swallow around him, Alfred nearly lost the ability to speak. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and gasped, “I’m… I’m gonna… Arthur! I’m gonna…!”

                Arthur gave one more hard suck, and Alfred came harder than he’d ever come before. White light erupted behind his closed eyes, and he vaguely felt his hips jerk once, then twice, before he fell back against the sheets, breathless. Thick waves of pleasure coursed through his body, burning through every nerve until his body was tingling with ecstasy. His body felt like it had been struck by lightning and he was still buzzing with electricity, scorched and thrumming with slowly dispersing energy.

When Arthur pressed a kiss to his stomach, Alfred felt a blissful sound rumble in the back of his throat. Arthur continued to shower Alfred in kisses; over his heart, on his collarbone, and finally, Arthur kissed his lips. The fact that Arthur’s lips were bitter made Alfred’s heart stutter and his breath hitch; Arthur had finished Alfred, but as he kissed him, his burning hot erection was pressed to Alfred’s thigh.

“Arthur…” he slurred against Arthur’s wet lips. Arthur hummed questioningly, kissing Alfred’s cheek as Alfred tried to lift his arms. His body felt like it was filled with lead, and he couldn’t even reach up to slide his hands across Arthur’s sweaty, bare skin. “Arthur, what… what about you?”

Arthur gave another inquisitive hum as he threaded his fingers through Alfred’s hair and pressed his nose to Alfred’s temple. “Me?”

Slowly, Alfred regained the strength to grip Arthur’s shoulders and turn his cheek into Arthur’s slightly sweat-dampened hair.

“I want… I want you to feel good, too.” Alfred said lowly. Arthur sighed, and Alfred tried to turn him over so he could somehow help Arthur. His arms just felt like jelly. “I want to…”

“You can’t even hold yourself up, love,” Arthur pressed a kiss to his hair, and began to slide out of bed. “Perhaps you can help me next time.”

Alfred blinked slowly, not quite understanding what Arthur had said. “But… but –”

Arthur was already out of bed, disappearing in the dim light of the room. It seemed the oil lamp didn’t illuminate too far past the edges of their bed from that angle. Alfred blinked at the stifling darkness, waiting for Arthur to emerge from it slowly, languidly. He waited for Arthur’s tongue to dart out and lick along his neck and his teeth to catch his bottom lip. Alfred waited for the burning touch of Arthur’s hands to singe his nerves, and the smoky whisper of Arthur’s breath to taint his skin with his scent, unable to be washed away no matter how many baths Alfred took.

When Alfred opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – he saw Arthur climbing back into bed, swaddled in a royal blue, silken dressing gown. In the sallow light of the lamp, he could almost see Arthur’s smile.

“I think I like exhausting you,” Arthur said softly, ghosting his fingers across Alfred’s forehead and pushing hair from his eyes. “You’re laid out so nicely for me. It’s an excellent view, I assure you.”

Alfred felt a lazy smile come to his lips. “Yeah?”

“It is ‘yes,’ Alfred,” Arthur said softly as he laid on his side and looked down at Alfred, propping his chin in his hand. “Not ‘yeah.’ How many times must I tell you?”

Alfred shrugged and hooked an arm around Arthur’s waist, giving a forceful tug and pulling Arthur over him and onto the right side of the bed. Arthur’s side. Where he belonged, next to Alfred. After letting out an undignified squeak, Arthur allowed Alfred to press his ear against the smooth silk of his dressing gown.

“You have to keep telling me for the rest of our lives.” Alfred said with a smile as Arthur pulled a blanket up and over them. Pressing a kiss to the crown of Alfred’s hair, Arthur wrapped his arms around his King, holding him close. Alfred smiled and whispered, “Don’t you ever get tired of kissing my hair?”

“Alfred, my dearest,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “That will never happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading again, everyone!  
> See you next chapter.


	20. Deliquus

                Over the course of several months, Alfred had come to obsess over the miniscule details that made the brilliant Arthur Kirkland. From the way he held his teacup before he drank to the way he would sigh after every soft kiss; every piece fit into a grand puzzle, making an image that would be burned into Alfred’s memory forever. If he took a step back to admire the way he and Arthur fit together, Alfred would see no seams between them. He was simply another piece to be added to the picture, not only melding with Arthur’s soothing colors but also adding a splash of his own personality, giving the picture a new tone of abstraction.

                Yes, every little piece of Arthur was meant to be cherished and admired, and as Alfred laid with his ear pressed to Arthur’s chest, he couldn’t help but be undeniably happy. He’d been awake for almost half an hour, listening to the routine thump of Arthur’s heart in his chest. Through the night, Arthur’s dressing gown had slipped open, exposing more of Arthur’s scar-littered skin. If Arthur would shift beneath him, Alfred would kiss his perfect skin, adoring each happy sigh and blissful sound that escaped Arthur’s tired lips.

                Blinking against Arthur’s chest, Alfred pursed his lips. Last night was the first time he’d ever had sex. True, it was oral sex, but it had to count… didn’t it? Tapping his index finger on Arthur’s smooth skin, Alfred thought about how the night had progressed. They had both been eager and happy to fall into bed, but it was Alfred’s own discretion that stopped them from truly becoming one. He didn’t want that to happen again. Arthur was left to please himself while Alfred sat by uselessly; it wasn’t fair, no matter how much Arthur tried to say that it didn’t matter.

                Sitting up a bit, Alfred braced a hand on Arthur’s chest and shook him. “Arthur,” he whispered, watching the way Arthur’s brow furrowed and his eyes closed tighter. “Arthur, wake up.”

                Giving an annoyed groan, Arthur turned his face away and grumbled, “I don’t want to; let me sleep until the sun burns out. Only then will I wake.”

                That made Alfred smile and quirk an eyebrow. Arthur was never one to sleep in, and already the sun was stretching its glowing rays across the horizon, ready to start the day with our without them. Shaking Arthur again, Alfred leaned over to kiss his cheek.

                “That’s poetic, but I still want you to wake up.”

                Groaning unhappily, Arthur turned his face back to Alfred, opening his eyes slowly to reveal tired, agitated eyes. “What is it?” It was meant to be posed as a question, but his voice was stiff with irritation, leaving very little room for Alfred to answer.

                Not minding the tone, Alfred kissed Arthur’s soft lips, feeling Arthur immediately melt beneath him. “I want to try again,” Alfred breathed into Arthur’s parted lips, hearing him make a confused noise until Alfred kissed him again. The back of Alfred’s eyelids were stained a rosy pink, and when his and Arthur’s lips met, the pink melted down into a dusty maroon. Sitting back slightly, Alfred held himself just an inch above Arthur as he whispered, “I want to try again.”

                Letting his head fall to the side, Arthur breathed out happily, bathing the sheets in the warmth of his sigh. Alfred took advantage of the opening, ducking his head to kiss the juncture between Arthur’s ear and his neck. The reaction from Arthur was a high-pitched, excited giggle that made Alfred’s heart swell with pride.

                “Was last night not enough to sate you, my King?” Arthur wondered aloud as he tilted his head further to the side and bit his bottom lip.

                Smiling against the warm surface of Arthur’s skin, Alfred chose to hum lowly and kiss along the line of his neck rather than answer. He wanted this to be done the right way, with both of them finishing with idiotic smiles on their faces and sweat on their skin that quickly turned to steam. He wanted to see Arthur’s face just before he came, and he wanted to know that he was the cause of it. This time for sure, he’d be the firsthand witness to Arthur’s pleasure.

                So, as he slipped a hand beneath Arthur’s robe and spread his fingers across the nervously flexed plane of his torso, Alfred did everything he could to make sure Arthur was happy. Arthur let the robe fall away easily, pulling his arms from the sleeves and pushing it off of the bed carelessly as he sighed against Alfred’s lips. Alfred smiled and kissed him again.

                He wanted to make Arthur gasp for breath as if he were drowning. Alfred slid his hand down the smooth plain of Arthur’s chest, and Arthur’s breath hitched. He wanted Arthur to beg for his touch and never forget the imprints his hands made against his skin. Grasping Arthur’s slightly hard cock, Alfred stroked it until it was completely erect, gaining Arthur’s garbled words of praise. He wanted Arthur to cherish the taste of his lips until it was a flavor he couldn’t exist without. He kissed Arthur, and Arthur bit his lip when he moaned. What Alfred wanted most of all was for Arthur to lather himself in the thick heat between them like it was a sweet scented gel, lingering on his skin and tainting his lavender scent with something muskier.

                “I want,” Alfred breathed hotly against Arthur’s lips, pausing the movement of his hand and opening his eyes to see Arthur’s lips parted around each short breath. “Ah… Arthur, I really want to have sex with you. This time,” he waited until Arthur wrenched open his eyes to look at him in unabashed pleasure. “This time… we’ll both come. Together. I wanna,” Alfred looked down at Arthur’s flushed cock, swallowing thickly at the sight. He looked back up to Arthur and whispered, “I wanna see your face when it happens. I want to watch you –”

                “By all means, make it so.” Arthur gasped before he took Alfred’s face into his hands and pulled him forward for a rough kiss.

                Arthur’s tongue slid along the seam of his lips until Alfred opened his mouth, welcoming the slick, erotic heat of Arthur’s tongue against his own. Each breath he took was captured by Arthur and dragged into Arthur’s own lungs, never to be returned. Arthur’s gentle nature from the night before seemed to have been pulled away by Alfred’s request, and his hands traveled over him almost roughly. When Arthur’s hand found his cock, Alfred pulled away from their kiss to moan and screw his eyes shut.

                “Alfred,” Arthur murmured almost gently. “I thought you didn’t want to do it this way?”

                “I don’t,” Alfred grunted, opening his eyes to see Arthur’s questioning eyes. “I’m… I know it’s selfish, but I’m…” he bit his lip and leaned heavily on his right hand when Arthur squeezed the shaft of his cock. Alfred ducked his chin against his chest and moaned out, “I don’t want to be the bottom. I’m sorry.”

                Arthur’s body stilled as if time had been frozen, and Alfred hesitantly opened his eyes to see Arthur fighting to contain his laughter behind shaking lips. Alfred frowned. What was funny?

                “Is that all?” He asked, hardly trying to hide the smug smile on his face. Alfred frowned harder, making the corners of his mouth ache a little bit. Arthur wiggled until Alfred released him, pushing Alfred back so that they were both sitting up, watching each other carefully. “Alfred, my love, you don’t _have_ to be the bottom,” Alfred blinked in disbelief and Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, I would like for us to try that someday, but we needn’t rush into it. Is that why you stopped me last night? Just a bit afraid?”

                Alfred nodded bashfully, eyeing the smile on Arthur’s lips with an embarrassed grin. Leaning forward, Arthur readily captured his smile, tangling his dexterous fingers in Alfred’s hair and holding him close as he kissed Alfred senseless. Pastel colors streaked across Alfred’s closed eyelids, and his hands moved of their own volition, taking Arthur’s waist naturally. Once he had Arthur in his grip, he laid back against the bed upside down with his toes brushing the pillows and Arthur’s warm skin overlapping his own.

                “Do you want me?” Arthur asked needlessly, kissing Alfred before a proper, positive response could be given. “Of course you do. You want to have me and love me… you want to ravish me, don’t you?” Alfred tried to gasp out his answer, But Arthur kissed him again, cutting off his chance to take a breath. “My mouth isn’t enough for you, is it?” Alfred moaned, and Arthur kept talking. “You want more – no, you _crave_ more,” Arthur ground his hips down against Alfred’s and both men lost themselves in the feeling for a long moment, but Arthur returned to himself with a force, crushing their lips together before growling, “And by the gods, I am ready to give you more.”

                Alfred took a deep breath when Arthur sat back a bit, sliding his hands up Arthur’s back and digging his fingers into his shoulder blades. “Ready… to give m-more?”

“Oh, yes,” When Arthur finally pulled back, Alfred sucked in a deep breath and listened painfully close as Arthur murmured, “Anything you want, my love.”

                Opening his eyes wide, Alfred saw Arthur looking down at him with an expression that could only be described as ‘dangerously seductive.’

                “Arthur,” Alfred keened, arching up against Arthur’s soft skin. Arthur bit his bottom lip and let his eyes flutter shut. “I… I want to have you,” Alfred propped himself up on one elbow, gripping the back of Arthur’s hips with his empty hand and holding Arthur in his lap as he sat up. “L-let me… let me…”

                A hot breath of laughter washed over Alfred’s lips as Arthur leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “Go on, Alfred,” his green eyes burned down into Alfred’s soul as Arthur whispered against his lips. “Take me, if you dare.”

Not wasting any time, Alfred titled up his chin and kissed Arthur. Breathless words of praise echoed off of the walls as they desperately grasped for each other, bare skin burning against bare skin as they tried to forget what it meant to be two people. Souls were linked in an unbreakable bond, hooked together by magic and love, and neither man had any wish to change that.

When there was a knock at the door, quick and alarmed, Alfred didn’t hesitate to sit back, scowl, and shout, “We’re busy!” before reaching for Arthur and wrapping himself in the inescapable trap of Arthur’s arms. A smile played on Arthur’s lips, but Alfred paid it no mind; he wanted more. To wrack Arthur’s body with pleasure and purge his skin of any other scent other than his own.

The knocking halted only for a moment, and when it returned, Arthur was the one to lift his head and pressed Alfred’s ear to his chest as he called, “Go away!” This movement allowed Alfred to hear the desperate, excited flutter of Arthur’s heart. It sounded like the beat of a bird’s wings; frightened and trying to escape Arthur’s ribcage. After Arthur’s command, the knocking ceased, leaving Arthur and Alfred to look at each other and laugh anxiously. The thought of being caught was enough to frighten them, but not nearly enough to make them stop.

Hands trembling with adrenaline continued their journey over blush stained skin, tracing the seams between them and marking the hard and soft lines of each other’s bodies. Alfred felt his erection begin to ache dully as Arthur continued to tease him, and each kiss they shared grew more desperate as Alfred grew more impatient; if they continued this way, Alfred would be finished before anything even began.

“I can’t – Arthur,” Alfred gripped the curve of Arthur’s hips and squeeze tightly. “I can’t wait anymore…”

“Good,” Arthur breathed with an almost relieved tone, crawling away to the bedside table where the bottle of unidentified oil still sat from the night before. He gestured for Alfred to go back to the head of the bed. “This will be easier if you’re against the headboard,” Alfred obeyed, scrambling to sit against the pillows as Arthur watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. When Alfred was sitting still, Arthur straddled him once more with the vial of oil in hand. “Alfred, I will give you a choice; would you rather be on top of me, or shall I ride you?”

Alfred’s mouth went dry for a second as he blinked spastically. “R-ride?”

Arthur nodded fervently, pulling open the small bottle and tipping it into his palm. “You’ve never done this before,” Alfred only half listened as Arthur’s slick hand grasped his cock and stroked him slowly. Alfred’s head lolled back against the pillows. “That’s why I want you against the headboard, my love… I want to control how quickly you enter me,” Alfred moaned loudly, partially due to the way Arthur’s warm, oil covered fingers thumbed the head of his erection, and partially due to his words. “Now tell me,” Arthur leaned forward to whisper in Alfred’s ear. “Do you want to lay me down and have me, or will I ride you?”

Alfred’s lips parted to offer an answer, but he didn’t know what to choose. If he chose to take Arthur on his back, he would be able to adjust the angle he was at, and properly pivot when he needed to. Then again, he’d have to bare all of his weight on his arms; if he slipped, he’d fall on top of Arthur. That most likely wouldn’t be very good. Arthur was much more experienced, so having Arthur ride him was surely the more logical choice. Swallowing anxiously, Alfred watched Arthur’s heat-clouded irises and took a deep breath.

“Ride,” Arthur arched a regal eyebrow, and Alfred nodded to himself, repeating in a much more solid tone, “Ride. Please.”

Arthur gave Alfred’s lips a soft peck as he whispered, “’Please,’ he says. How polite.”

Leaning back, Arthur tipped the bottle into his hand again, pouring a liberal amount of the substance onto his fingers. Alfred had a crystal clear idea of where that oil was going, but didn’t comment on it as Arthur caught his eyes and held him with a heated stare.

                “Before anything, I need to prepare myself –”

                “Stretching,” Alfred summarized tersely, getting a warm smile from Arthur. Nodding to Arthur nervously, Alfred massaged his thumbs against curve of Arthur’s hips and licked his lips. “Yeah, I know how sex between guys should work.”

                “Very good,” Arthur said softly, kissing Alfred again and resting a hand on his chest before Arthur breathed, “I do hope you can be patient as I do this.”

                Alfred watched with avid fascination as Arthur’s left hand disappeared behind his back, and Arthur’s eyes scrunched shut. The hand that was on Alfred’s chest flexed, and Arthur’s fingernails bit down into the skin of Alfred’s pectorals, but Alfred couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was hypnotized by the way Arthur moaned as he stretched himself. When he would pull his finger out, Arthur would bite his lower lip, like he was trying to keep quiet, but with each upward thrust, he was gasping and arching his back.

                With wide eyes, Alfred swallowed heavily. Arthur’s hips were rocking slightly now, and his breathing had become short and ragged. Trying to soak in the experience and not just witness it, Alfred lifted his hands to Arthur’s chest and let them wander. The blush that had started at Arthur’s cheeks had crawled its way down his neck and chest, and as Alfred passed his hands over pink stained flesh, Arthur gasped and jerked forward. Alfred smiled. Nipples were sensitive for Arthur?

                “Is that good?” He asked eagerly, looking up at Arthur.

There was a disgruntled noise from Arthur, and Alfred leaned forward to hesitantly kiss one pert, pink nipple. Arthur’s body gave another jolt, and a long moan slipped from Arthur’s lips as he added another finger, thrusting a bit harder. Alfred’s hands gripped Arthur’s sides. It felt good. _Too_ good. Hearing Arthur moan made his cock throb, and every breathless gasp made Alfred more impatient.

Looking down, he saw Arthur’s cock, already slick and twitching, pressed against his chest. He knew what to do with that, at least. Slipping his left hand down, he gave Arthur’s cock a few careful strokes, pushing his thumb up and along the head as he did so. Arthur took a sharp breath, and bit his lip as he exhaled slowly.

“Just, ah… Alfred,” Arthur huffed as his arm shifted and his thighs trembled. “I’m almost… almost ready, just let me…”

Alfred watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of Arthur’s face, and Alfred gave his cock another squeeze. Arthur gasped and bucked his hips forward into Alfred’s hand.

“S-stop that,” Arthur ordered hazily. Alfred grinned sheepishly, refraining from simply pushing Arthur back until he was pressed against his cock. Arthur looked dizzy as he tried to regain his focus, slurring his words a bit as he said, “I want to make love to you, Alfred. Y-you… ah… you’re making that difficult when you…” Arthur repositioned his hand and spread his legs further apart. Alfred stared intently at the concentration on Arthur’s face as Arthur breathed, “You’re pulling me toward the edge.”

Spreading his fingers across Arthur’s stomach, Alfred listened carefully to every small, keening noise Arthur dared to make. As the seconds dragged out into hours, Alfred felt his chest constrict painfully as his eyes remained wide. Every breath was short and quick as Alfred watched Arthur work himself; he wanted to start, but he would live up to Arthur’s high expectations. He could be patient. At least he thought he could. But when Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he shivered with pleasure without warning, Alfred felt his patience crack.

“Arthur?” Alfred pitched his voice toward a question as he watched Arthur breathe out slowly. “Can I… c-can I just put it in?”

Not waiting to respond, Arthur took his fingers out and grasped Alfred cock, making Alfred nervous. He wanted this, and he wanted to make love to Arthur, but he didn’t know if he could last as long as some of Arthur’s more experience bedmates. But Arthur didn’t pay that fear any heed as he sat up on his knees, holding Alfred hard cock behind him tightly as he looked down at Alfred anxiously.

There was a beat of pause as Arthur and Alfred simply looked at each other, as if they were waiting for the other to give permission. But neither of them spoke, and because Alfred’s former question was the only permission Arthur seemed to need, he lined himself up, tilted his hips at a certain angle, and pushed himself down.

Alfred felt his body shiver as Arthur’s inner walls flexed and contracted around him, sending formerly unexperienced waves of pleasure across his nerves. Impossibly soft heat surrounded Alfred, and as Arthur sat astride him, gasping for breath, Alfred’s eyes remained wide as he started to pant helplessly. Only the night before, Arthur’s mouth had been warm and slick with heat, bringing the same erratic, electric pleasure bolting over Alfred’s body, but this was something else entirely. It was every feeling he’d ever experienced set to a previously undiscovered level, setting off alarms in every direction of Alfred’s brain and telling him he wasn’t going to last.

“ _Fuck._ A-Arthur, I’m...” Alfred bit his tongue and shook his head. No, he wanted this to last. He wanted to please Arthur, and if he wanted that, he had to stave off orgasm as long as he could, no matter how much it hurt. Arthur made a breathless, confused noise, and Alfred shook his head again. “It’s so tight… How can you be so soft and tight… at the same time?”

“Oh, _gods_ ,” Arthur reached forward and wrapped his arms around Alfred’s shoulders, pulling him forward into a hot, sweaty embrace. “You mustn’t say such things – I won’t be able to hold on.”

Alfred tried to smile against Arthur’s neck, but Arthur’s muscles flexed around him, and he simply moaned, “I can’t say how good it feels?” Arthur made an unintelligible noise, and Alfred held him closer, pressing his fingertips into the small of Arthur’s back.

Alfred bit his lip; he could only imagine that it hurt. Hell, it was why he didn’t take the positon himself. But Arthur was brave, and Arthur was willing to give himself to Alfred without any hesitation. Closing his eyes, Alfred exhaled softly against the smooth skin of Arthur’s neck.

“Is it bad?” He wondered aloud, feeling Arthur grip his shoulders. “We could stop, if you…”

                “Things will get better if I start moving,” Arthur breathed with an air of finality as he sat back, bracing his hands on Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred’s stomach burned and his body tingled with anticipation. The couple watched each other nervously for a moment before Arthur murmured, “I love you.”

                Alfred didn’t have a chance to reciprocate before Arthur started to rock his hips slowly, easing himself into a steady rhythm as Alfred gritted his teeth closed his eyes tight. There was so much to feel and too much to enjoy; the heat that coiled in Alfred’s stomach burned and bubbled with every movement Arthur made, and his toes curled against the blankets.

                When Arthur started to lift himself up higher and thrust down, Alfred didn’t hold back the moans that rose from deep in his throat. His hands grasped at Arthur’s hips, and with every downward thrust, Alfred gasped at the sound of skin slapping skin. His lungs burned for air, but that burn was ignored in favor of Arthur’s heat stretched around him.

                “Ah – Alfred… oh, Alfred,” Arthur dug his fingernails into Alfred’s shoulders, and Alfred retaliated with an upward buck of his hips. This resulted in Arthur’s surprised shout, “Oh, _yes_! A-Alfred!”

                Knowing that he’d done something good, Alfred took Arthur’s hips and waited until Arthur shakily rose up on his knees again. When only the tip of Alfred’s cock was left, Alfred pulled Arthur down as hard as he could, using his legs on the bed as leverage as he slammed his hips up against Arthur. As Arthur cried his name again, Alfred shivered with hot pride.

                He did this several more times, knowing very well that the hot, tangled mess of arousal in his stomach was going to burst. Wrenching his eyes away from the blissfully pained expression on Arthur’s face, Alfred slid his left hand away from Arthur’s hip to grasp his flushed cock, stroking it in time with Arthur’s now erratic bouncing.

                His skin was slick with sweat and scented oil, but Alfred didn’t care. His shaking hands stroked Arthur until his arm started to hurt, and he felt himself pulsing with energy as he teetered on the edge of orgasm. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alfred thumbed the head of Arthur’s cock, and he listened to the nonsensical words that fell out of Arthur’s lips carefully to distract himself from release.

                “Arthur, please… please, tell me you’re close,” Alfred grunted as Arthur angled his hips a certain way and forced himself back down onto Alfred’s cock. Leaning forward to kiss Arthur’s sensitive chest, Alfred gasped for air as Arthur whined in the back of his throat. “Oh my god… tell me you’re close.”

                “Y-yes,” Arthur gasped, and the sound went straight to Alfred’s cock.

                “Are you gonna come?”

                “Yes!” Arthur responded quickly, his fingernails biting into the skin of Alfred’s shoulders painfully.

                Alfred’s cock ached with strain and he knew he couldn’t hold off any longer, but he knew Arthur was most likely just as close. Throwing his head back against the pillows, Alfred bucked his hips up against Arthur again, clenching his teeth as Arthur raked his sharp nails down his chest. He stroked Arthur fast and hard, gasping for breath as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

                “Come on, Arthur,” Alfred begged, feeling Arthur arch forward, hips quivering. He wanted to see Arthur come undone, shattered by his own pleasure and held together by Alfred’s all too willing hands. Alfred moaned and huffed, “Do it. Make a mess.”

                The order must’ve been more demanding that Alfred expected because Arthur threw his head back and shouted his name so loud, Alfred was sure the entire palace would hear it. And with that shout, Arthur came all over Alfred’s chest, pulling Alfred along with him as his body tensed. Wrenching his eyes open, Alfred watched Arthur’s face carefully, burning the expression into his memory. His eyes were wide open and lips were parted around every desperate breath. Arthur’s red cheeks glowed in the early morning sunlight, and the dazed expression sent Alfred tumbling over the edge as Arthur groaned his name once more. Alfred let out a breathless gasp as he finally allowed himself to come, falling back against the pillows as his body took wave after wave of pleasure.

                Alfred didn’t mind as Arthur shakily fell forward to lay against his chest, but he did wonder if the stickiness on his chest would somehow glue them together. His arms were too heavy to lift, and his legs hurt from holding Arthur’s weight, but he couldn’t restrain the stupid grin that came to his lips as he caught his breath with Arthur.

                “Hey,” Alfred mumbled softly, hearing Arthur make a soft, curious noise in return. “Was that worth the one hundred year wait?”

                Arthur turned his head to kiss Alfred’s neck, and murmured, “Absolutely.”

+++++

                Alfred watched Arthur carefully over the edge of a piece of paper, eyeing the way Arthur winced when he sat down, scowled when he adjusted the way he sat, and grimaced when he had to stand up once more. It was a little sad that Arthur was in pain, but Alfred still felt the flags of pride waving in the back of his mind as he sat on the sofa in the study.

                Only a few short hours had passed since they’d had sex that morning, and after they had bathed and eaten, Arthur had swept Alfred away into the study to look over a stack of letters. They were informational sightings from their few remaining allies, giving word on which kingdoms could have organized the attack against Arthur and Alfred. And although these letters were important, Alfred couldn’t help but be distracted by Arthur’s presence in the room.

The cream-colored stationary in front of Arthur was highlighted by a lazy, afternoon sun that was constantly hiding behind thin clouds, but Alfred enjoyed the way it highlighted Arthur’s skin much more. Whenever Arthur would lift his eyes form the paper to think of the correct way to word something, his eyes would catch the light and glitter subtly, and the natural rosiness of his cheeks became more pronounce when the light hit them.

                Neither of them had spoken since they had entered the study. Then again, they’d been rather quiet ever since they left the bedroom. Alfred knew what he had to do with the letters, so there was no trouble with instruction, but he couldn’t help but feel the delighted buzz of excitement in the back of his mind. He’d had sex. With the love of his life, no less. This was astounding news, considering Alfred was no longer a virgin… he wanted to tell someone. To share his achievement, somehow.

                No, telling someone wouldn’t be enough. Alfred had definite pride in his freshly-kindled sex life, and he wanted to tell the _world_. Alfred had been the one to make the Queen of spades come undone, shouting words of praise for the world to hear. If Alfred could, he’d stand on the guardrail of the balcony tell the entire kingdom of Spades that he had achieved his dream of sleeping with Arthur. But, he had the sense to keep his mouth shut and watch Arthur squirm in his chair uneasily.

                Before Alfred could open his mouth to apologize for Arthur’s discomfort, the quiet, tentative sound of knocking echoed through the study. The King and Queen of Spades both looked to the door, though neither of them answered the noise. Alfred narrowed his eyes at the oak door; was it the same person that had been knocking on their bedroom door earlier that morning? The question tickled the back of Alfred’s throat, begging to be voiced, but Alfred wasn’t given a chance as whoever it was knocked again.

                “Come in,” came Arthur’s dulcet reply, welcoming and professional as ever.

                The door to the study opened slowly and cautiously, giving Alfred the idea that it was indeed the person that had knocked on their bedroom door. Anyone else would simply step into the room and get down to business; no, this person was afraid to upset them, given that they had been shouted at the last time they knocked on the door. So, with a partially amused smile, Alfred watched as Yao stepped into the study with a letter held to his chest.

                “Your Majesties,” he said carefully, looking to the right side of the room to see Arthur at his desk, then to the left to see Alfred sitting on the sofa. His brow furrowed, but he bowed to both of them nonetheless.

                “Good afternoon, Yao.” Arthur said nonchalantly as he wrote something on a paper, most likely trying to spare as much of his dignity as he could.

                Alfred, on the other hand, grinned madly and dropped the letter he was reading atop the table. “Yeah! Good afternoon, Yao. How are you, today?” Arthur was giving him a baffled expression, and Yao made a confused noise, but Alfred didn’t mind; he was in a good mood. “Whatcha got there, pal?”

                “What… I have… ah, yes,” Yao squinted at Alfred before nodding to himself. Giving the letter in his hands a quick glance, Yao stepped over to Arthur’s desk and placed the letter in the middle of Arthur’s writings. “You merely have to sign this, and I will be back to my duties.”

                Arthur looked at the paper for a moment before reaching into his desk and retrieving his reading glasses. After they were perched prestigiously atop his nose, Arthur lifted the letter to gain better lighting. His visage only darkened.

                “But, Yao… this is a dungeon sentence,” Arthur said lowly, as if such a thing never occurred in Spades. Alfred frowned at the thought. Did people just not get thrown into jail in Spades? Was Arthur really that forgiving? Getting out of his seat and walking to the desk, Alfred listened carefully as Arthur continued to speak. “You’re completely sure?”

                “I witnessed it myself, Your Majesty,” Yao replied crossly, folding his hands behind his back as he nodded. “He was in the southern forest when he was spotted.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide as he leaned over Arthur’s shoulder to read the letter. “Who?” Alfred questioned no one in particular as he scanned the letter. “Who was spotted? Samuel?”

                “Oh heavens, no. Not Samuel,” Arthur said through tight lips as he shifted in his chair to lessen his discomfort. “If it _were_ Samuel, I would most likely be in a state of panic.”

Turning away from the letter, Arthur removed his reading glasses and held the earpiece to his lips like he always did when he was thinking. Alfred took the letter from his slack grip and read the slanted, messy cursive of Yao’s handwriting. There was “treason” and “attempt” written at the top, along with “possession” and “ill will.” Alfred squinted at the letter angrily as he tried to decipher it. Had this criminal, whoever he or she was, not committed the crime after all? If it was merely an attempt, there was reasonable suspicion that the person may not have been able to carry out the act if put under pressure.

“He was captured as soon as the soldiers spotted him,” Yao said crisply pursing his lips and looking very annoyed as he spoke about the offender. “After a brief confession, he was taken to the dungeon; and he will remain there.”

Alfred removed his glasses to wipe away a smudge while he turned to Yao and huffed, “For treason? Isn’t that a little harsh?”

Until he put his glasses back onto his face, Alfred didn’t see the look of utter horror on Yao’s face. It was strange to see, to say the least. Alfred was so used to the serene, aloof disposition of the Jack of Spades, but this face went against everything he knew about Yao. Arthur’s expression was much easier to absorb; he’d seen Arthur irritated plenty of times.

“What?” Alfred asked, shrugging a little when the other men in the room continued to openly stare at him. “I’m just asking. Besides, I can’t read your writing, Yao.”

After exchanging a look with Yao, Arthur sat forward in his desk to speak, only to wince painfully and sit back with a frown. “The man is an assassin, Alfred. An assassination attempt against the King and Queen of Spades is traditionally labeled as ‘treason,’ but it doesn’t lessen the severity of the act.”

“Yes,” Yao agreed quickly, waving a hand at the letter. “Which is why one of you will need to sign this as a formal sentence to the dungeon.”

As Alfred started to hand the letter back to Arthur, he paused just in time to see the word “June” written clearly at the top of the page. Blinking hard, Alfred momentarily allowed his mind to be sidetracked while Yao described the assassin to Arthur. It was June already? Where had the time gone? On one hand, it felt as if a very long time had passed since Alfred arrived in Spades; he’d gotten married, become King, and fallen in love. These were all valuable achievements – though some very more valuable than others. But, on the other hand, Alfred had realistically only been in Spades for less than half of the year. In that half of a year, Alfred had yet to see the vast majority of his Kingdom, meet Arthur’s mother, and discover a brilliant plan to deter Samuel’s army. All in all, Alfred didn’t quite know _how_ to feel when he read the word “June.”

Was he happy that he’d stayed so long in the foreign land? Was he disappointed that he still couldn’t find the mystical card that could take him home? If pressed for answers, Alfred would have none to give. He didn’t know what he felt.

Having nothing better to say, Alfred looked to Arthur and mumbled, “It’s June 14th.”

“Yes,” Arthur said absently, reaching up a hand to pat Alfred’s arm consolingly. “Very good, Alfred. Remind me to find a calendar, Yao. The days _have_ been passing us by faster than I anticipated.”

                Giving Arthur a bland response, Yao returned to explaining the attire and mannerisms of the assassin, leaving Alfred to look down at the letter dejectedly. He’d be twenty years-old in just a few short weeks. Life truly was passing him by; and he didn’t feel like he was any older. Now that he thought about it, his hair had yet to grow any longer, as if he was frozen in time. Blinking hard, Alfred realized he probably _was_ frozen in time. Arthur said that the Kings, Queens, and Jacks of the Card Kingdoms would stop aging when they reached their prime age of mental and physically acuity.

                When Arthur reached for the letter, Alfred willingly handed it to him, giving Yao a reserved smile as he did. The Jack of Spades was fidgety and anxious, obviously agitated by the presence of an assassin in the kingdom whereas Arthur was calm when he wrote his name on the sentence.

                As Arthur added a flamboyant curl to the end of his name, Alfred rocked back on his heels and muttered, “My birthday is coming up, soon.”

                The movement of Arthur’s hand paused, and Alfred watched with a bemused expression when Arthur looked up at him. Those sad, green eyes watched him closely, as if Alfred was fading away beneath the weight of everything.

“What an ill-fated time,” Arthur said with a melancholy smile. “A celebration will have to be held in your honor, naturally. But…” his words trailed off uncomfortably, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say.

Alfred shrugged. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about, anyway.” Yao reached down to take the dungeon sentence from Arthur, giving Alfred an apologetic smile as he did. Shrugging again in an attempt to show his lack of caring, Alfred put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and gave them a soothing squeeze. “I don’t care if we skip the party this time.”

                Arthur shook his head. “But –”

                “Seriously,” Alfred waved to Yao as he wandered out of the study, discretely removing himself from the situation. Arthur sat back in his chair, groaned, and sat forward again slowly. Alfred leaned down to kiss his hair. “IT’s just one birthday. Heck, I hardly even do anything on my birthday anyway.”

                “Is that so?”

                “Yeah. I meant ‘yes,’” Alfred nodded, pulling back Arthur’s chair and turning it so that Arthur was facing him. There was a curious expression on Arthur’s face, but there was also a glimmer of mischievous excitement. Alfred knelt down in front of him, leaning his arms atop Arthur’s thighs as he grinned. “For the past few years, I’ve stayed home, played video games, and pigged out on junk food.”

                “I only understood one of those things,” Arthur said with a frown, pursing his lips and shaking his head in disapproval. “But… Sideo games? Junk food?”

                Alfred sighed and leaned forward to rest his chin on his arms. “It’s _video_ games. Not sideo.”

                “Oh, it really is no matter.” Arthur grumbled as he waved a hand at correction, trying to remove his mistake. Alfred only smiled wider.

                “And, my birthday still isn’t for like… three weeks.”

                “In those three weeks, the world may come to an end,” Arthur commented cryptically as he looked past Alfred into a bleak future. That ruined Alfred’s mood, and he frowned a bit as he mulled Arthur’s words.

                It was true, war was on the horizon. No matter how much Alfred tried to think that he could avoid it and pretend it wasn’t real, it was still a very real threat. It was why he wanted to take Arthur to bed when he could, and why he wanted to share his feelings when he had the chance. Alfred knew that despite his excessive training and Arthur’s constant fussing, he wasn’t born to fight in wars. He was too soft and too trusting. And he knew it all too well.

                Closing his eyes, Alfred sighed again, shifting his arms on Arthur’s thighs just a bit. “At least I know that you’ll be fine.”

                Arthur stiffened as if he’d been shocked by an electric current, and he couldn’t feel anything. Alfred would have opened his eyes to see Arthur’s expression, but he didn’t have the courage. He wasn’t even brave enough to look Arthur in the eye. How would he survive a war?

                “What was that?” Arthur breathed as his hands came down to settle atop Alfred’s hair. “Why did you say that, Alfred?”

                “You’ve got magic,” Alfred said quietly. “And the knights have known you a lot longer… Everyone trusts you, Arthur. So I know that you’ll be safe, even if I…” letting his words die there, Alfred took a deep breath.

                “No.” Arthur said gruffly, as if the idea of living was out of the question.

                Alfred frowned pressed his face closer to his arms, trying to hide from Arthur. “Arthur, I’m just being logical. Isn’t that what you want? For me to be logical?”

                “No. No, that isn’t what I want.”

                “Well, what _do_ you want, then?”

                Arthur’s fingers tangled in Alfred’s hair and pulled his head up a forcefully, his glare burning into Alfred’s eyes as they looked at each other.

                “You will listen to me, Alfred Jones.” Alfred swallowed nervously; Arthur rarely used his last name unless he was really irritated. “No matter what happens in these coming weeks, I will keep you alive. Until I take my final breath, I will be fighting to keep our people alive… but you will _always_ come first.

                Alfred closed his eyes as Arthur’s grip on his hair loosened. “You don’t have to protect me.”

                “Of course I do,” Arthur sighed softly as he leaned forward to hug Alfred. The position was sure to be uncomfortable, pulling at sore muscles, but Arthur paid the pain no mind. “I need to you live, Alfred. If anyone, it should be you.”

                Alfred snorted. “I can’t be a King without you.”

                There was a pause as Arthur sat quietly, possibly debating the worth in Alfred’s words before he sat back and looked at his husband sadly. “And I couldn’t be Queen without you.”

                Huffing a little, Alfred made a face. “I guess two wrongs don’t make a right, do they?”

                “No,” Arthur laughed just a bit, lifting a hand to wipe away unshed tears from his eyes. “No, I suppose they don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> See you next chapter.


	21. Linquo

                “Hey, Arthur,” Alfred called across the study as he straightened his glasses. Arthur was laid out across the sofa with his propped up on the armrest and an arm thrown over his eyes. There was a vague, frustrated noise from his lips, and Alfred blinked at the parchment in his hand. “I know you don’t want to get up, so I’ll just ask you from here: Is there some sort of eraser for ink in Spades?”

                Arthur didn’t move from his place on the sofa, but did offer Alfred a gruff, “What?”

                “Eraser,” Alfred repeated, looking at his poorly written signature on the paper. His hand had started to shake while he was writing, and now there was a dissatisfying blotch of ink staining the paper. “I made a boo-boo.”

                Again, Arthur stayed stationary. “I don’t know what that means, my love.”

                Lifting his head to smile at Arthur’s lax frame, Alfred sighed. “You know, I thought that the soreness was supposed to go away after a while. We’ve been having sex every night for three days; will you always be sore?”

                “Lower your voice when you speak of those things,” Arthur snapped, gaining a frustrated huff from Alfred. “And no, the soreness while not ‘go away;’ it will simply lessen as time goes on.”

                Alfred sniffed thoughtfully. “That’s disappointing.”

                “Oh, yes,” Arthur snorted, “My inability to sit comfortably is _disappointing_.”

                Sighing again, Alfred sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers against Arthur’s desk. “So, does Spades have any kind of eraser for ink, or not?”

                “No. You’ll have to start your letter from the beginning.”

                Making a dramatic, annoyed groan, Alfred leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I have to rewrite the _whole thing_?”

                Arthur responded with his own moan as he shifted on the sofa slowly. “Yes. The whole thing.”

                Slapping his hands against the top of Arthur’s desk and rolled his eyes. He’d been writing agreements to allies for their assistance since he and Arthur had left the lunch table, and before that, he wrote to the border patrol so they would be able to attack their enemies without repercussion. It was fun to be involved in the somewhat frightening political affairs of Spades, but Alfred was tired. He didn’t know how Arthur could’ve lived this way every day; surely, he should have died of boredom twice by now. But, Arthur was alive and well on the sofa, drifting off to a peaceful sleep while Alfred was left to sign a ransom note for a headhunter.

                What Alfred _really_ wanted to do was lay down with Arthur. It felt so nice to have Arthur curled against his chest, safe and sound in his arms, where he knew that no pain would alter his kind smile or the soft glint in his eyes. Everything in the world slowed down when he was with Arthur, and just for a moment, Alfred could believe that he and Arthur were safe. Just for a second, when he was wrapped up with Arthur, no war threatened to crush their kingdom, and no fear of death loomed over him. Both of them were safe in that moment, if only just for a few seconds.

                But Alfred had to finish his letter, and to do that, he needed a new piece of paper. There wasn’t time to go and hold Arthur in his arms. If he tried to pick Arthur up now, he would most likely get yelled reprimanded; Arthur was still achy from Alfred’s excited exuberance the night before.

                So, with a frown, Alfred looked down to Arthur’s desk and lifted up miscellaneous papers and letters, looking for a blank sheet.

                “Arthur, where’s the blank paper again? I forgot,” while Arthur processed the question, Alfred looked down to the drawers of the desk. “Oh. Wait, I can find it.”

                As Alfred started to pull open the top right-hand drawer, Arthur shot up ramrod straight. “No!” He scrambled up from his comfortable place on the sofa, crossing the ten feet to the desk in the blink of an eye. “N-no, let me… Let me get you a piece of paper.”

                Alfred quirked a skeptical eyebrow as Arthur went to the left side of the desk and opened the second drawer, revealing a stack of blank paper. What was wrong with opening the drawer? Why wasn’t he allowed that one, simple thing? Leaning back in his chair, Alfred watched Arthur shuffled through the left-hand drawers.

                “What was _that_ all about?” He asked carefully.

                Arthur’s expression was anxious as he place a crisp, clean piece of paper in front of Alfred. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                Blinking slowly, Alfred brought up a hand to straighten his glasses with a wry smile. “Oh, I get it. This has to do with my birthday, doesn’t it?”

                Sitting back a bit, Arthur’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Your birthday?”

                “Yep,” Alfred slung his arm around Arthur’s waist and pulled him close. “You’ve got a secret present in one of these drawers, don’t you?”

                “I… oh, a present,” Arthur said slowly, confirming Alfred’s suspicions that Arthur was truly hiding something. Arthur tried to smile and brush away his nervous tone with a breathless, “Well, it must stay secret, yes? Your birthday isn’t for a few weeks, yet; if you see it now, the surprise will be ruined.”

                Alfred frowned. Now that he knew what it _wasn’t_ , and it only made him more curious. What was hidden in the drawers? What was it that Arthur refused to share with him? Drugs? No, Spades didn’t have real drugs. It was mostly salves and powders. Well, maybe it _was_ some kind of powdered drug. Or, it could be something terrifying, like a severed head. Maybe Arthur was a secret murderer or was demon-possessed and he was killing people when Alfred wasn’t looking. There could be a jar of teeth in one of the drawers, or maybe a disembodied hand. None of those options sounded nice.

                “Arthur?” He asked innocently as he looked up at Arthur, seeing nothing but the fake smile that Arthur saved for strangers. It didn’t boost Alfred’s confidence in him. “Seriously, what’s in the drawer?”

                “Nothing,” Arthur said quickly. Much too quickly. He tapped the blank sheet of paper in front of Alfred impatiently. “Here is your paper Alfred. Now, let’s not sit and dally; you have a letter to rewrite.”

                Removing Alfred’s arm from his waist, Arthur slowly and casually made his way back to the sofa, leaving Alfred to watch him with narrowed eyes. Alfred had felt several things for Arthur in his five months in Spades; love, adoration, fear for Arthur’s life, concern for his past experiences… but, he’d never felt suspicious before. It was strange to experience doubt in the face of Arthur’s words. He was always so honest and sure of himself, but now that Alfred had struck a chord, his sense of superiority fell away to reveal a frightened, aching persona that Alfred didn’t know.

                It should have been insulting; Arthur was hiding things. They were married… shouldn’t he share these things? If it concerned Arthur, shouldn’t Alfred know about whatever it was? He knew he wouldn’t know everything about Arthur, but if he could know this one thing, he wouldn’t want anything ever again. It was sad that Arthur was hiding something, and Alfred knew that he _should_ feel angry, but he simply felt scared. Why was Arthur lying to him?

                Reaching a hand down to the top, right-hand drawer, Alfred casted a glance up at the sofa. Arthur was sitting with an uncomfortable expression on his face as he shifted the way he sat. He was obviously still sore from the night before, but he’d made a point to jump off of the sofa and rush to the desk regardless of the pain. Alfred looked down at the drawer, licked his lips, and started to pull it open, anxiously flickering his eyes up to Arthur every have second in fear that he’d be caught.

                When he could finally see a sliver of the drawer contents – blue as far as they eye could see, contained in the shape of a rectangle – the door of the study burst open, making Alfred jump and slam the drawer shut. Fredrick stood in the doorway, breathless and panicked as he looked between Alfred and Arthur desperately.

                “T-the stables!” The young boy gasped, pushing his light brown hair from his face. “Your Majesties, the stables are… Fire! In the stables! The horses are running wild in the courtyard!” His silver eyes were wide as he stumbled back a step. “Cherche has been doing her best to catch them, but no one can contain the fire… please, Your Highness,” Fredrick pled as he looked to Arthur. “Please help us!”

                Arthur was off of the sofa immediately, rushing out the door on Fredrick’s heels. “How was this caused, Fredrick?”

                Alfred was up and running behind them, hearing the vague rumble of footsteps echoing off of the walls. As Fredrick blubbered something about a preemptive strike from Donovan’s soldiers, Alfred couldn’t help but be distracted by the secret desk drawer. He knew he needed to be focused on helping Arthur, but he knew what he wanted; he wanted to know the secret.

                And whether or not Arthur wanted to him to know, he would find out.

+++++

                “Easy now, easy… Lift it slowly, Alfred!”

                “If I go any slower, my arms are gonna fall off.” Alfred said stiffly as he struggled to hold up a beam of wood that once served as a main support for the stable.

Arthur had the much more strenuous job of waving his hands to and fro. To be fair, Alfred couldn’t see whatever magic Arthur was using to fix the stables. Whatever it was, Alfred had yet see it and be impressed. He was still struggling to push the beam back up into an upright position so Arthur’s “hard work” was not in vain.

The horses had been corralled and tied to the fences of the training grounds, fire had been put out, and people were being calmed. It hadn’t been a full attack against Spades, but Alfred had an eerie feeling that it was simply a warning. There was much more coming at them than just a simple stable fire and scrambled knights.

As Arthur pivoted his hips and took a step to the right, Alfred frowned to himself as he struggled to push the heavy beam of wood into an upright position. “This is _really_ hard to hold up; are you done, yet?”

“Alfred, my love, if I hear another complaint from your lips, I will chain you to that post.”

Alfred made a noise reminiscent to that of a dying swan. “Oh, Arthur, you _wound_ me. So violent, so cruel, so…” _secretive_ , Alfred wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to see how Arthur would react. So, instead of stating a fact, Alfred finished with, “So _bossy_.”

“Oh, hushaby.” Arthur mumbled crossly as he moved his right foot back to solidify his footing. His hands glowed an opalescent blue as he glared at the roof of the stables and moved something to the left. “Things could be much, much worse.”

“Worse?” Fredrick shrieked from his place on the ground. The poor boy had been sitting down for almost half an hour, shivering while soldiers worked on catching the bandits that set fire to the stables. He was wrapped in a blanket and Cherche’s arms, and the young girl patted Fredrick’s back as he looked up at Arthur with wide eyes. “E-everything was on fire, Your Majesty! And you say that it could have been _worse_?”

“Oh, Fredrick,” Arthur sighed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Rejoice, my boy… At least the capitol city was left unharmed.”

“And the palace! The palace was left unscathed!” Cherche added with an animated smile, patting Fredrick’s shoulder comfortingly. “See, Fredrick? All’s well.”

“All is _not_ well.” Fredrick said crossly as Alfred’s arms shook with strain.

Though it was disheartening, Alfred had to agree with the boy; things in Spades were getting more than a little rocky. Only three days ago, an assassin came looking for him and Arthur, and now the stables were set ablaze by more of Donovan’s lackeys. Casting a wary glance at Arthur, Alfred frowned. There was also Arthur’s secret item hiding in his desk, and he had no idea what it could be. A discreet order for Alfred’s death? A deal with Donovan that included only Arthur being spared in the war? Alfred didn’t know. It didn’t sound like something Arthur would do, but then again, Arthur was not one to keep secrets. And for some strange, tickling reason, it worried him.

“All is not well,” Fredrick repeated quietly while Cherche pressed a kiss to his hair.

Looking around at the stables that were in the shambles and the soldiers that were shaken, Alfred felt his expression darken. Arthur stood calm amid it all, working on righting the roof of the stables quietly as Alfred looked back to him. Everything was going wrong.

+++++

                He was going to do it.

                Alfred assured himself as he laid in bed with Arthur that he would indeed sneak out of bed and see what was so secret in Arthur’s desk. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Arthur’s slow, calm breaths were interrupted by the soft mumbles of sleep talk, Alfred realized that he had no courage. He knew that he could simply slip away from the bed and go to the study with no problem, the only issue was getting away without Arthur waking up. And, if Arthur did wake up, Alfred would be left with the difficult task of explaining why he was getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

                Slowly lifting his arm away from Arthur’s torso, Alfred felt his heart race and his blood boil with adrenaline. He’d never felt so afraid of sneaking away in his life… But, he wanted to know what was in the desk. If he was going to be secretly killed and towed away so no one would notice he was gone, he wanted to know so he could run as far away as he could. If Arthur was dealing under the table with Donovan, he wanted to know so he could possibly talk Arthur out of it. But before he could deal with the secret, he had to escape from the bedroom first.

                Rolling away from Arthur cautiously, Alfred listened to each breath Arthur took, immediately freezing if Arthur so much as sniffled. When the Queen’s breathing was normal once more, Alfred continued on his long journey away from the bed. He pushed the covers back slowly, glancing at Arthur every few seconds as he bit his lip and held his breath. When he finally slid out of bed and onto the floor, Alfred crouched there for a few seconds, watching as Arthur mumbled something in his sleep and pulled the excess blankets closer to himself.

                Letting out a long breath, Alfred took the softly burning oil lamp from the bedside table and tiptoed his way to the door, glancing back at Arthur one last time before he slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind himself.

                Without the comforting glow of sunlight, the palace was intimidating and grim around Alfred as he made his way through the winding halls. It was the same route he always went to the study, but for some, strange reason, the trek seemed much more sinister at night. The oil lamp in his hand sent strange, wobbling shadows across the floors and walls, and his footsteps echoed back to him in sad repetitions.

                Before he knew it, Alfred was only one turn away from the study, and his pounding heart had calmed to a low, anxious thud. All around him, paintings were hung along the walls. Any other day he would have walked past them without notice, but in the dark of night, it seemed that the royal portraits were watching him with stern, unforgiving expressions. Even as he passed Arthur’s portrait, Alfred couldn’t but duck his head in shame. He should have trusted Arthur. He was supposed to believe him… but, how could he believe him when Arthur told such obvious lies?

                Pursing his lips and raising his head, Alfred looked to the closed door of the study. The inside was cool from the night air that wafted through the balcony doors, and Alfred immediately walked to the desk. He knew what he’d come for; as soon as he saw what was inside, he was going straight back to bed and holding Arthur close. It was probably nothing. Alfred set the lamp atop a smudged piece of paper. He’d gotten himself worked up over nothing, most likely. He reached a hand over to the drawer, and let his hand linger on the handle.

                What if it was something he really shouldn’t know about? What if Arthur was truly upset that Alfred did this? Lifting a hand to straighten his glasses, Alfred took a steadying breath; curiosity ran in his blood, and he wanted answers. Even if Arthur was upset… even if he shouldn’t know… Alfred blinked hard, and pulled open the drawer with one quick yank.

                The contents of the drawer was nothing special; an unopened letter, a small wax seal, and several cords of ribbon to tie parchment together. It was all very ordinary, say for the large, blue rectangle that sat atop of it all. Letting out a disbelieving sigh, Alfred picked up the large, blue card that plainly stated, “King of Spades.”

                Alfred looked down to the card in his hands with a baffled expression. Arthur had found his card. He’d _hidden_ it. Leaving Alfred none the wiser, Arthur had taken the only key back to Alfred’s old dimension. It was understandable to keep something that important safe, but Arthur had gone too far, and hidden it from Alfred knowledge.

Feeling his surprise simmer down into a low sense of betrayal, Alfred scowled. Arthur was probably hoping he’d never find it. He had probably been making all sort of excuses for _weeks_ in hopes that Alfred would never know. He _lied_. Blinking down at the card, Alfred took a deep breath. How long was Arthur planning to keep the card a secret? How long had he kept it? When did he find it? These questions couldn’t be answered on his own, and before Alfred could turn to the door, he heard the distinct sound of Arthur’s voice.

“Alfred…” Arthur murmured from the doorway. He was draped in his light blue, silken dressing gown, and it only accentuated how pale he was against the dark walls of the study. His eyes looked empty and sad as he watched Alfred across the room with a bland expression. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

Alfred’s fingers clenched the card tightly, as if he expected it to disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Had Arthur followed him to the study? Feigned sleep so Alfred would find the card on his own? Or was it just a fluke that Arthur had woken up? None of that was important as Alfred stood with the card in his hand, held close to his chest. Glancing down at the card for a second, Alfred felt his anger bubble up once more as he held it out towards Arthur accusingly.

“Where did you get this?” When Arthur’s eyes flickered to the card anxiously and he hesitated, Alfred took a step towards the door. “How long have you had it? _Where_ did you find it?”

Arthur looked down to the floor almost shamefully. “I found it –”

“Where?” Alfred growled, crowding Arthur’s space in the doorway. When Arthur took a few steps back nervously, Alfred felt a little bit like a bully; that feeling burned away under more anger as Arthur looked up at him with fire in his eyes.

“Let me finish!” Arthur spat as he brought his trembling hand up to brush hair from his eyes “I found it here, in the study… only a few days ago. I – I was going to tell you, I –”

“When?” Alfred pressed, backing Arthur out into the hallway. He felt bigger when Arthur shrunk back, but his heart ached at the sight of fear in Arthur’s eyes. Trying to shake away the discomfort, Alfred shook the card in Arthur’s face. “When were you going to tell me? Tomorrow? Next week?”

Arthur’s eyes darted to the floor, to the wall, and to the card, but his mouth hung open silently with no answer. Alfred felt his chest constrict painfully.

“How long were you planning on lying to me?” He asked accusingly, and his voice cracked halfway through the question. Arthur blinked spastically, and Alfred loomed over him as he pressed back against the wall. “Where you _ever_ going to tell me?”

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally stuttered, “I… Alfred, I –”

“Arthur, I trusted you!” As Arthur ducked his chin, Alfred crowded closer. “When I first got here, you said you didn’t have the card… I _believed_ you. I… I thought you wouldn’t lie to me!”

Looking up desperately, Arthur nodded fervently. “I wouldn’t lie to you! That is… I’ve… I haven’t lied to you before this, I… what I mean to say is –”

“How do I know that’s true? How do I know _anything you say_ is true?” Alfred took a step back to look at his visibly shaken husband, taking in his trembling frame and watery eyes. “You _knew_ how much I wanted to go back and see my parents, Arthur. You knew, and _still_ ,” he held up the card as evidence. “You pull this shit? Seriously? I thought… I felt like you were better than this.”

Arthur stumbled away from the wall quickly, reaching out to Alfred as he spoke. “I am! Oh, I am so much better than this, Alfred… I truly am. I’ve made a mistake,” he tried to reach up to cup Alfred’s face, and Alfred step back, denying him the touch. Arthur cocked his head to the side sadly. “Alfred, I made the wrong choice; I found the card by chance, and I thought… I was afraid –”

Alfred retreated into the study, shaking his head. Arthur wasn’t allowed to be sad or afraid. Not now. _He_ was the one who lied. He had broken the strong trust that had precariously built between them, and he should accept the consequences. He should have accepted it, but Arthur wasn’t taking Alfred’s anger as a consequence, he was taking it as a personal attack. But, wasn’t Alfred the one who was attacked? Looking down at the card in his hand, Alfred nodded to himself. Arthur lied. Alfred was the victim.

Now, standing in the study with a ticket back to his old home, Alfred felt conflicted with every thought he’d had about Spades. For months, he was convinced he was happy. He had taken the idle days in Spades as a blessing, and every exciting movement made his life richer. The card had upset the balance, making him question every emotion he’d felt for Spades, for its citizens… and for Arthur.

Did he still love Arthur? Could he still love Arthur after he’d been denied Alfred his own family? It was a dark, uncomfortable question, and Alfred didn’t like to think about it. The card burned at his fingertips, and every step he took felt like he was sinking into the carpet; how could he choose between a world he’d come to love and a life he didn’t even bother to remember?

“Alfred,” Arthur breathed as he crept into the study slowly. Alfred stood in the corner quietly, glaring down at the card angrily. “I was… I was afraid. I didn’t want to lose you, and… and because of that, I made a very bad decision.”

“Yeah.” Alfred grunted under his breath.

 “I thought that… if you would be able to leave Spades, you would never return.” Arthur paused, and Alfred clenched his teeth in frustration. “So, whenever I was given the opportunity to tell you, I… I made the wrong choice.” Another pause, and Alfred clenched the card tightly, feeling the thick parchment bend and fold in his grip. Arthur came closer and put a hand on his shoulder, whispering a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Sure,” Alfred breathed, shrugging Arthur’s hand away with a frown. “Sure, you’re sorry, but how does that change this?” He waved the card in the air, and Arthur was silent. “I spent days… _weeks_ crying about not being able to see my parents anymore. None of my family, none of my friends… You took that from me.” Finally turning to look at Arthur, Alfred was surprised to feel his heart ache at the sight of Arthur’s tearful visage. Ignoring the feeling, Alfred looked back to the card and huffed. “I can’t… You don’t even know how much that… I’m…” shaking his head, Alfred stopped talking. He wasn’t sure what he felt, and was even less sure what he wanted to say.

He just wanted to get away from the situation. To get away from the card, from Spades… from Arthur. Blinking in recognition, Alfred glanced down at the card with a new sense of clarity. He _could_ get away from Arthur. His old dimension was just a doorway away.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Arthur breathed again, only succeeding in frustrating Alfred more.

Walking away from Arthur, Alfred headed for the door of the study, grumbling as he went, “Well, that’s just not cutting it.”

Before Alfred even put the card on the door, Arthur knew what he was doing, and he was running across the room to stop him. “Alfred, please. Please, don’t leave! We need you! _I_ need you!” Alfred put the card on the door, the same way he remembered it being when he came to Spades, and gripped the doorknob while Arthur tried to reach around him. “Alfred, _please!_ ”

“You’re not allowed to ask me for this!” Alfred shouted, feeling Arthur flinch at the volume of his voice. Blocking the card form Arthur’s reach with his shoulder, Alfred closed his eyes and started to turn the doorknob. “You took my family from me! You lied to me!”

“Alfred –”

“No!” Alfred felt his glasses pressing uncomfortably against his face as he leaned against the door, but he didn’t give way. “You’ve taken so much, now it’s my turn to take it back. Just… Just let me see them again.”

Pausing his struggle, Arthur grasped Alfred’s shoulders tightly. “Promise… promise me you’ll come home.”

Alfred frowned. What would a promise mean to a liar? Biting the inside of his cheek, Alfred pulled open the door and murmured. “Depends on what I decide.”

Arthur’s voice sounded hollow and broken as he whispered, “What you decide?”

“I need to think for a while. You… This messed me up, Arthur.” Glaring at the sliver of bright, afternoon light that streaked through the doorway, Alfred fought back a few, angry tears. “You lied to me… I thought I could trust you, and this…”

“You _can_ ,” Arthur assured him, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s torso and holding him uncomfortably tight. “You can trust me, my love. Please, trust me. I’ll never lie to you again. As I said, this was a mistake.”

Wrenching Arthur’s arms away, Alfred shook his head. “I can’t believe you. I just need some time… I need a little time to sort things out and figure out what I feel.”

“Alfred, please –”Arthur tried to grab him again, and Alfred pushed him back. “Please, don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

Stepping through the doorway, Alfred turned around to give Arthur once last shove backwards into the dark, grim study. To Alfred’s surprise, Arthur didn’t run back at him again. He simply stood in the dim study with his arms hanging limply at his sides and his eyes glittering with unshed tears. As Alfred tried to close the door on Spades, he heard the sad, longing tones of Arthur’s golden voice.

“Alfred… _please_ … I’m sorry,” when Alfred felt a tug on the door, he knew that Arthur was pulling it, giving one last, vain attempt to keep him from leaving. Arthur’s voice was broken and trembling, and he gave one last feeble tug on the door. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t go…”

Alfred only scowled at the familiar carpet of his bedroom floor as he slowly, finally, pulled the door shut. When the latch of the door finally clicked, Alfred let the sound of silence settle around him. The world around him was still bursting with sound; birds outside were chirping, and there was the somewhat foreign sound of a car racing down the street, but the silence still lingered in Alfred’s mind. He could almost hear how quiet it must have been in Spades, how Arthur would be standing at the door in tears, and how in only a few hours, the sun would rise and Arthur would probably still be at the door, waiting for him.

The quiet of Spades was too much. Everything about Spades was too much. Alfred blinked and shook his head before he straightened his glasses and wiped away a few hot, sad tears. His nightclothes seemed strange in his urban settings, and as he looked around his room, Alfred was happy to see that his room was nearly untouched. His mother had come in and done the laundry at some point, and his sports gear was much more organized along the walls, but all in all, it still looked like his bedroom.

Trying to make the best of his old dimension, Alfred quickly undressed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Surprisingly, the jeans felt much too loose in comparison to his normal tight dress pants, and without his riding boots, his feet felt bare in a pair of socks and sneakers. It was a small change, but it went to show just how accustomed Alfred had become to living in Spades. Just thinking about his clothing, Alfred could remember how Arthur would button his vest for him in the morning. He remembered how Arthur would smile and giggle when Alfred pulled his shirt on, and he could still recall the soft, cozy feeling of kissing Arthur’s nose before they left to eat breakfast.

Alfred frowned; he was supposed to be angry at Arthur. He was supposed to feel betrayed. He was _not_ supposed to be missing Arthur. He had seen Arthur only five short minutes ago, and it was not time to miss him yet. He needed to stay away from spades before he could begin to start missing it. Pursing his lips, Alfred turned back to his bedroom door, seeing the card sitting on the floor, neglected and plain. He needed to keep that somewhere safe, just in case he decided to go back.

After the card had been deposited in his sock drawer, Alfred went to his bedroom door, opened it without hesitation, and inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee and fried eggs. The scent of home and safety… wasn’t it? Alfred knew the smells were welcome, but on a deeper level, he knew that he’d be happier to breathe in the scent of lilacs. Frowning, Alfred closed the door behind himself and didn’t look back.

He was home. This was home… right? Trying to convince himself he was happy to be home, Alfred walked to the top of the stairs and held his breath, listening to the sounds of the morning newscast on the TV. Something in his heart knew that he’d made a mistake, and he was doing something _very_ wrong, but Alfred denied the tug. Instead, he took a deep breath, lifted his chin, and walked down the stairs, fully prepared to scare the hell out of his parents who hadn’t seen him in five months.

Alfred nodded to himself. No looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting for 140 thousand words for this.  
> Thank you and see you next chapter.


	22. Reverto

                The sound of shattering glass.

                Alfred had heard the sound many times before in his life, in and out of Spades. He could remember when he was very young, he knocked over one of his mother’s sculptures from pottery class when he was playing tag with his cousin, Matthew. Though they tried to hide it, the sound had echoed off of every wall in the house, and his mother and father had raced into the room, furious. He also remembered when one of his chemistry teachers had burned their tongue on a cup of coffee, and they dropped the cup on the floor, not only filling the room with the sound of breaking glass, but also scalding the legs of the students in the first row of desks.

                And just the former week in Spades, Fredrick had tripped and dropped a crystal vase. The sound had frightened Arthur, and Alfred could still picture the way he held his hand to his heart as his eyes went wide with panic. Alfred, on the other hand, was fascinated by the sound that grated on his nerves. It frightened him, but he was also interested in the way the bits of crystal fell apart, almost by design.

When the crystal broke, the pieces were so clear and small, he could almost imagine that it was just a large piece of ice that had broken, and the small shards that ricocheted off of the smooth, marble tiles were simply small bits of ice. Alas, it was not ice, and Fredrick had immediately burst into tears out of fear that he would be punished.

                But, that memory was a distant past in the face of what Alfred was currently experiencing. As he stood in the home he had lived in for nineteen years, he was met with a somewhat melancholy view of his parents at the breakfast table. It was like time had stopped, and Alfred was given the chance to admire his old dimension.

                The smell of coffee – foreign to his Spades accustomed nose – assaulted his senses as he stood in the kitchen in front of his mother and father. Dean Jones, his father, seemed almost like a stranger as he stared up at his son in disbelief. There was a phone in his hand, but whatever he had been reading on it had been left neglected. Sarah Jones, his mother, stood at the kitchen counter in her trademark pink scrubs, loosely holding a cup of coffee as she openly stared in wonderstruck awe at her long forgotten son.

The moment for observing had come and gone in an instant, and before he knew it, the cup of coffee had slipped out of his mother’s hand and dropped to the floor. His heart jumped at the sound of the cup breaking, but just for a moment, he almost smiled at the memory of Arthur comforting a distraught Fredrick as a shattered vase remained on the floor.

There it was: the familiar sound of shattering glass.

And with that sound, time returned to normal, and Alfred’s father was up and out of his chair, sending it screeching against the old tiles of the kitchen floor. His eyes were much more frightened than welcoming, and Alfred’s mother was still standing by the countertop with her hand still up, as if she was waiting for her coffee cup to come back into her hand. As the three of them stood in a tense, awkward silence, Alfred struggled to put a smile onto his face.

“I’m…” _home_.

Wasn’t that what he was supposed to say? The word was on the tip of his tongue, but something in his brain waved a warning flag. This wasn’t his home… No, his real home was in a different dimension. Wasn’t it? Alfred blinked slowly, trying to understand his own feelings has his mother made one small movement; her hand came up to her mouth, like she was holding in all of the words she wasn’t daring to say.

Swallowing his feelings, Alfred pasted on his fake smile and looked back and forth between his parents. “Hi mom,” Sarah blinked spastically, and Alfred’s smile felt a little more genuine as he looked to his father. “Hi dad. Long time no see.”

Another stretch of silence, and Alfred started to develop a sick feeling in his stomach. Weren’t they happy to see him? Or… had they been happy that he’d gone missing? The feeling was quick to be relieved as his mother stepped away from the counter with open arms, taking Alfred up in a tight hug and enveloping him in the scent of sandalwood.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered as she tucked her chin into the nook between Alfred’s shoulder and neck, hugging him as close as she could without breaking any ribs. “Baby, we thought you were gone...”

Alfred readily hugged her back with a smile, but there was something off with the embrace. He had become so used to holding Arthur and him alone, and the feeling of his slim from and broader shoulders was still imprinted in Alfred’s senses. But, he was _not_ with Arthur anymore. He had to focus on one dimension at a time. So, trying to ignore the strangeness of holding his mother, Alfred pressed his cheek to the top of her curly, brown hair.

“I _was_ gone, but…” Alfred blinked. How could he tell his parents about Spades?

They would automatically assume he was insane or disturbed. Maybe they would mistake it for head trauma and take him to the hospital. If that happened, his parents would no doubt end up seeing the scars on his back from the kidnapping outside of Diamonds… he couldn’t let that happen. So, mustering all of the brainpower he had, he spat out the most believable lie he could.

“This… guy… took me somewhere.” Alfred remembered Arthur’s charming accent, and used it to his advantage. “It was like, in Britain or something. It was really far away. And… and he kept me there for a really long time.” Alfred took a breath as his mother leaned back to look at his face. His father still stood by the counter, leaning against it like it was the only thing holding him up. Trying to smile, Alfred continued. “But, I found a way home, so… I’m here, now.”

“A guy?” Alfred’s father finally spoke, apparently pulled from his surprised stupor. “What kind of ‘ _guy_ ’? He took you, Alfred… that’s kidnapping.”

Like a kneejerk reaction, Alfred’s temper flared at the thought of his dad besmirching Arthur’s good name. “It wasn’t kidnapping!” He defended, stepping away from his mother’s arms to wholeheartedly fight his father. “Arthur wouldn’t…” But, wasn’t that what Arthur did? He _had_ held Alfred against his will. It was the definition of imprisonment. Why did he still want to defend Arthur after what he’d done?

“Arthur?” Alfred’s father asked with a suspicious tone, reaching for a pad of paper on the table. “Arthur who? Sarah, call the police; tell them we found Alfred, and we know who kidnapped him.”

While Alfred’s mother headed for her cell phone, Alfred tried to think of the best way to break it to his father that the police couldn’t catch Arthur. It was impossible for them to try and find Arthur… he was in a different dimension. But he couldn’t tell his father that; he didn’t believe in magic or fate. Hearing his mother’s quiet, teary tones in the next room, Alfred almost started to feel bad that he came back; his parents wanted revenge against his kidnappers. But, was it really kidnapping when Alfred ended up so happy in Spades? Alfred refocused when his father snapped his fingers impatiently.

“What was the man’s name, Alfred? We’ll find him and bring him to justice.”

Thinking on his feet, Alfred lied. “I don’t know. It was just Arthur… I didn’t know anything else. That’s it,” taking it one step further, Alfred tried to brush the situation under the carpet. “And Dad, he wasn’t all evil… He’s a… uh… He’s a good guy, deep down.” Alfred squinted; it was true, Arthur was generally a good person. He was endearingly selfish and could be standoffish, but ultimately, he was a good man. Nodding to himself, Alfred repeated the statement. “He’s a good guy.”

Alfred’s father shook his head in disapproval, motioning for Alfred to sit down. “Alfy, listen. We’re glad you’re home and safe, but I think you’re a little shaken up and confused. The man that took you… He kept you for five months.” Alfred nodded in understanding, and his father went on. “He kept you in… England, did you say? For five months, Alfy. He took you away and kept you there. That’s not something a ‘good guy’ does.”

Shifting in his seat, Alfred really began to regret coming home. He was conflicted, now. Of course he had been mad at Arthur, but only a few minutes passed before he wanted to go back and hold his husband close. But, now that his father pointed out the dark patches in Arthur’s track record, Alfred was struggling to cover them up. Arthur had only did what was best for their kingdom and people… that was something a good guy did. Right?

“He… he was just trying to do the right thing.” Alfred said softly, looking at the scratched, dull tabletop sourly. The oak table in the castle had been spotless and shined daily… he missed the shine already.

“By kidnapping a teenage boy?” Alfred’s father snorted and sat back, “Alfred, that’s not right. Kidnapping is _not_ right.”

“I know it’s not, I just…” Alfred looked down at his hands that were folded in his lap. His wedding ring still sat heavily on his finger; he would’ve taken it off, but that feeling in his gut told him to keep it on. “Arthur was just…”

“Alfred, don’t tell me that you _care_ about him.” Alfred hesitated to answer, and his father leaned forward, across the table. “You _do_ , don’t you? Oh my god… Alfred, there’s a name for what you’re feeling: Stockholm syndrome.”

Alfred’s eye went wide; that wasn’t it. He didn’t fall in love with Arthur because he was his prisoner. He wasn’t mentally disturbed or in shock. He loved Arthur because of who he was… didn’t he? All of this information was confusing him even further. How were his feelings getting more jumbled as time went on? He was supposed to be sorting them out, not mixing them together and making Alfred doubt himself.

“N-no,” Alfred refused shakily, trying to hold onto his emotions as best as he could. “It’s not that. I mean, normally, yeah… But Arthur… Arthur is different. He didn’t keep me locked up in a room or anything, and he didn’t threaten me –”

“Alfred, he kept you there and didn’t let you leave,” his father interrupted as he tapped his index finger on the table pointedly. “I’m sure you want to defend this man, but… But he’s not as good as you might think. He took you from us, Alfred.”

Alfred shook his head in disagreement. “No, Dad. He’s not –”

Alfred’s mother stepped into the kitchen again. “Sheriff Marks said that she’ll stop by tomorrow,” she said softly, walking to Alfred’s chair and rubbing her hand across his stiff shoulders. “She’s in the next town investigating a break-in… but she’ll be back by morning.” She paused, and Alfred looked up to see her giving him a tearful smile.

It made his stomach twist; it felt wrong to make her smile like that. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to stay. His mother didn’t pay attention to Alfred’s uncomfortable expression, and pat his shoulders fondly.

“She’ll have some questions for you, honey.” A pause, and Alfred was captured in her warm arms and hugged tight. “God, honey… I’m so happy you’re home and safe. We thought you were gone forever, baby.”

While his mother cradled his head to her chest, Alfred glanced over at his father who was currently writing something down on a pad of paper, glancing at his phone, then writing something else. He couldn’t read what it was, but he assumed his father was taking notes on his description of Arthur so that it could be researched and studied by a psychologist.

Closing his eyes, Alfred realized that he indeed regretted leaving Spades. Of course he was angry with Arthur, and he wanted time away from him for a bit, but being with his parents again was harder than he thought it would be. His father was making him question everything he’d been feeling for five months; was it fate that he fell in love with Arthur, or was it a mental disturbance? One option sounded better than the other, but Alfred didn’t know how to prove either one positive.

“I’m tired,” Alfred said finally after a few minutes of his mother petting his hair softly. His father looked up from his phone, but didn’t say anything. Raising his voice, Alfred repeated himself. “I’m tired.”

“Well, you were in England that whole time, right?” His father said blandly as he wrote something down. “It’s probably the time difference that’s throwing you off.”

Alfred mother patted his head again before she leaned down to kiss his hair. “Maybe you should take a nap, baby. You’re home now… it should be easier to relax here than with a stranger, right?”

Though Alfred wanted to agree with her, he couldn’t find it in himself to smile and nod. He was in his old home with his parents, and he knew that he should feel relaxed, but he felt out of place. Part of him felt as if he hadn’t been properly welcomed, but another part of him wished that he hadn’t been welcomed at all. His feelings for Arthur would have been easier to understand if all of the Stockholm syndrome business wasn’t brought up.

So, he slid away from the breakfast table with a sour expression, allowed his mother to kiss his cheek, and trudged back up the stairs. Back to his room, back to his bed, and back to the pillow he remembered to be his favorite. It wasn’t anymore. His favorite pillow was the one that he and Arthur shared when they were curled close to one another, tangled together beneath the blankets and whispering sweet nothings into the pillowcases.

Frowning, Alfred looked around the room. What had seemed so appealing when he ran from Spades? What made him think that being here was better than being with Arthur? Squinting at the window on the front wall, Alfred pulled the blinds down and drew the curtains. Just for a moment, everything was dark, and almost believed he was back in the dreary night of Spades. For a brief second, he could hear the hitch of Arthur’s voice when he tried to hold the door open, and when he turned around to close his bedroom door, he almost saw the glimmer of freshly fallen tears out in the hallway.

                When the door was closed and the room was effectively dark, Alfred put his glasses on his dresser and fell forward onto his bed, breathing deep and taking in the scent of laundry detergent. His nose wrinkled, and he sat up sadly, looking around for his formerly discarded nightclothes from Spades. They were still on the floor in front of the closet. He grabbed his shirt and laid back down on his bed, pressing the fabric to his face. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Alfred could smell Arthur’s rich, lilac scent.

                That was all it took to lull him to sleep.

+++++

                Smooth white planes stretched as far as the eye could see, and the horizon melted in with the bland, colorless world. Alfred blinked as he faded into existence, immediately recognizing the place as a sort of dream. There was no colored except that of his own skin and clothes, and when he looked down at his hands, empty and strong, he felt a strange sense of melancholy.

                “Alfred?” A voice rang through the strange void, ringing and echoing through the air in strange repetitions. Alfred knew that voice. It had calmed him when he was afraid and distracted him when he was in pain; sadly, it was not the voice of the man he loved.

“Alfred,” the voice called to him again, and Alfred turned to see a young woman standing only a few steps away. It was Juliana in all of her former glory; dressed in a pale green ball gown and draped in a silver shawl, she watched him with sad, navy blue eyes. As she fingered the pearls that hung around his neck, she spoke again. “Dearest King, I must speak with you.”

Pursing his lips, Alfred looked Juliana up and down skeptically. Wasn’t it impossible for Juliana to appear without Arthur’s magic? It was probably a con to persuade Alfred to come back to Spades, and Arthur was a sneaky puppet master.

Juliana gasped and pulled her shawl tight to her shoulders. “I beg your pardon! I am no puppet, and my brother is not my master.” Shaking her head, Juliana brushed her long, curly brown hair from her eyes, watching Alfred carefully. “I am here on my own agenda.”

“Oh yeah?” Alfred huffed as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “And what’s your agenda?”

“You’re punishing Arthur, aren’t you?” She said pointedly, not wasting any time.

                Alfred frowned. “I don’t know if I’d call it punishing. It’s more like,” he made a vague waving gesture with his hands. “I just wanted some space for a little while. It’s not a big deal.”

                Juliana’s downhearted gaze turned steely as she blinked slowly. “I think it _is_ a big deal.”

                “Yeah, well… You’re dead, so I don’t really think your opinion matters, here.” Alfred said with a derisive snort.

                “Now, listen here, _King of Spades,_ ” Juliana hissed as she took a step towards Alfred. Her voice made the blank world around them ripple, as if the balance of the universe had been tossed askew. Though Alfred could feel his nerves sizzle with the change, Juliana seemed unfazed by it as she glared at Alfred. “I’ve torn myself from the intricate webs of the gods to see you. Thrown myself from the heavens and ripped my way through several levels of hell… and _this_ is how you speak to me?”

                Alfred looked down at his feet, ashamed and mildly afraid as Juliana went on. “Arthur has not cried for a very long time. You know that he’s a strong man, and he hates to shed a tear… But you,” she pointed at Alfred accusingly, rattling the pearl bracelet on her wrist. “You have managed to make him cry. He _knows_ what he did was wrong, and still –”

                “Don’t try to make me the villain!” Alfred shouted, feeling the space around them rumble at the sound of his voice. He tapped his own chest as if to emphasize his point. “He lied to _me_. _I’m_ the victim, here! Don’t try to turn it around so that I’m the one to blame for his sadness. He brought it on himself.”

                “Haven’t you ever been scared?” Juliana screeched, her beautiful features being torn and dampened with despair as she scowled at Alfred. “Haven’t you ever been so afraid of losing someone or something that you’d do anything – _anything_ – to keep them from disappearing? Arthur has! He lost me when he was very young, and there was nothing he could do to tear me from the hands of death!” Unlike Arthur, Juliana had no problem with crying, and tears readily fell from her eyes as she continued to scream at Alfred, rattling the universe with words of truth. “He had a choice with you! He had an opportunity to keep you from slipping through his fingers, and he took it!”

                Alfred shook his head, not wanting to accept such an earnest statement. “It’s not the same. It’s just not the same! You’re his sister, and I’m his husband.” Alfred shook his head, feeling a little dizzy as Juliana glared at him. “You were dying, and I missed my parents… the motivation, the action… It’s all different!”

                “You say you are angry, and yet you defend Arthur when you tell your parents about him,” Juliana spat, narrowing her blues at Alfred as she spoke. “You say you want to be away from Arthur, and yet you continually miss him, no matter what you say or do. You say that you are the victim, but Arthur was the one abandoned.” Her eyes narrowed down to dark, uncomely slits. “Make up your mind, my King. What exactly are you feeling?”

                “I’m… I _am_ the victim, I’m…” Alfred frowned as Juliana turned her head and gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m upset that he lied, and… and I know that I still miss him, but… what I feel is –”

                His words were cut short when Juliana stepped forward and cupped his cheeks, holding him in place as she spoke to him. For a second, he could almost see Arthur’s spirit in her dark, blue eyes.

                “Perhaps that question is too much for you, yet…” she murmured, pulling Alfred down until his face was pressed to the warm curve of her shoulder.

Her skin was like silk, and her scent was that of freshly tilled earth. It was a comforting atmosphere. As he let himself be held, Alfred easily realized that it felt better to be held by Juliana than being held by his own mother. The thought was a rude awakening: being held by Juliana was almost like being held by Arthur. He finally felt comforted for the first time since he’d left Spades. But it was a sad replacement for the warmth of Arthur’s arms. Alfred sighed at the realization; he never really wanted to leave Arthur. Juliana nodded her head slowly, passing her slender fingers through Alfred’s hair.

“Sometime soon, you will realize that not every relationship in the world will be a basket of roses, dearest Alfred.”

Alfred frowned deeper, making the corners of his mouth hurt. “I’m still mad at him, you know. That’s not changing.”

                “Then, I have a new question, dear King,” Juliana hummed, pressing her cheek to Alfred’s hair. His back was starting to hurt, and his hands were clenched unhappily in his pants pockets, but Alfred held still and listened closely when she murmured, “Are you really punishing Arthur for lying… or are you punishing yourself by staying away from him?”

                Alfred jerked his way out of Juliana’s grasp, feeling the world around him tilt and turn as his vision went blurry. Juliana watched sadly as Alfred shook his head and tried to will away the vertigo. Juliana started to fade from view, and he blinked spastically as his vision continued to blur, tilt, and finally go black altogether.

                Forcing his eyes open quickly, Alfred stared at this bedroom ceiling. It was still the way he’d left it, dim and plain, but there was a pale orange tint in the light that peered through the crack in his curtains. Sunset or sunrise? Alfred blinked and realized that he didn’t really care. Arthur had confused him, his father confused him even more, and then Juliana came to him and confused him ever further.

                What his father said made sense, but what Juliana said made more sense. Should he take the word of a dead woman over his farther, or should he trust is own judgement? Closing his eyes, Alfred rolled onto his side and held his warm, cotton nightshirt to his chest desperately, as if it would offer him the comfort he normally gained from Arthur’s presence. No such comfort came, and when he finally fell asleep again, he didn’t dream, no matter how much he wished he could.

+++++

                As Alfred spent his second official day in his old dimension with his parents, he slowly but surely began to realize that it was physically painful to be away from Spades. Whether it had to do with fate or guilt, he didn’t quite know, but when he tried to take a bite of breakfast cereal, Alfred felt his chest constrict and his heart flop awkwardly in his chest. It was like someone jumped up behind him and tried to scare him, or the air had been knocked from his lungs and his heart was trying to compensate for the strain. Either way, Alfred knew it hurt as he dropped his spoon back into his bowl with a ringing clatter.

                His mother and father looked up at him from the sofa where they’d been whispering to each other to stare at him. “You okay, Alfy?” His mother asked carefully, leaning forward on the sofa as if she was getting ready to stand up.

                Alfred nodded his head as he held a hand to his breast, digging his fingernails into the fabric of his orange t-shirt. “Yeah,” he lied with a grunt, feeling the pain slowly subsiding as he took several deep breaths. “Yeah, I’m good.”

                “We’ll take you to the doctor after Sheriff Marks stops by this morning,” his father said sternly as he took a sip of coffee and tuned back to the television. “We didn’t see anything wrong with you yesterday, so we left it alone, but…” he looked back at Alfred skeptically, and Alfred forced a smile on his face. His father looked unimpressed. “We’ll take you to the doctor.”

                Trying not to groan at the idea, Alfred rolled his eyes and looked down at his bowl of cereal. Though he was appreciative for the food, he couldn’t help but feel a little let down by the presentation. He missed the fruits and breads that he was normally given, and he missed the way Arthur would sprinkle sugar onto sliced strawberries for him. He missed the smell of Arthur’s herbal tea and the flicker of Arthur’s eyelashes as he looked around the garden peacefully. Poking his finger into his soggy breakfast, Alfred frowned. Maybe his anger was exaggerated, and he should have simply taken Arthur’s apologies and stayed in Spades. Sighing, Alfred took a bite of cereal. It hadn’t even been two whole days, and already he missed Arthur.

                Alfred choked on his food as his heart gave another startled jolt. His hands grasped at his chest, and his eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t know what do to as he sputtered and coughed a mouthful of cereal onto the tabletop. His parents were up and off the sofa immediately, running to his aid and asking what happened. Alfred couldn’t tell them that he missed Arthur and his heart hurt at the thought; they would take him to the emergency room or a mental hospital. Either option sounded horrid.

                “I took a b-breath at the wrong time,” Alfred lied shakily as he endured the feeling of a needle drilling into his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and slammed his fist on the table, trying to will the pain away. “I just choked a l-little. I’m… I’m okay,” his parents exchanged a skeptical look, and Alfred forced an awkward smile to his lips as the pain started to fade. “Guys, really. I’m okay, now.”

                “Dean, maybe you should just get the car keys,” Alfred’s mother said quietly, waving Alfred’s father toward the kitchen counter where his keys were currently waiting. While Alfred made a feeble attempt to stand up from the chair, his mother started wiping up the spilled milk with a soft towel as she murmured, “We’ll talk to Sheriff Marks later. I think you need to go to the doctor _now_.”

                Before Alfred could think of an adequate reason to deny going to the hospital, the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Sheriff Marks.

                “Oh, darn! That must be the Sheriff,” Alfred sputtered quickly, sitting back down at the breakfast table and clenching his fists in his lap. “Guess we’ll have to stay here for a while.”

                Alfred’s mother gave him a horrified look and shook her head. “Sheriff Marks can wait. Baby, something’s wrong and we need to get you to a doctor.”

                Trying to shrink lower into his chair, Alfred smiled sheepishly. “No, I’m good. Really. I’m fine.”

                The doorbell rang again, and Sarah waved her husband toward the door. “Alfy, baby, you looked like you couldn’t breathe… no parent wants to see their child in pain.”

                “But I’m fine now,” Alfred said through grit teeth. He could only imagine his parents would have a fit he went to the hospital and have to show the doctor the scars on his back. How would he explain that? Could he say that their horse drawn carriage tipped over and he landed in the glass? No, they probably wouldn’t believe that. Hardly anyone used horse drawn carriages anymore. “I just swallowed my cereal wrong; I’m not hurt or anything.”

                As his mother turned away to greet Alfred’s father and the Sheriff, Alfred clawed at his chest desperately. Thinking about the carriage falling made him think of Arthur, and just as he began to miss Arthur, his chest ached and his head swam. He didn’t know he could miss Arthur so much that his heart would throb at the thought of him. Was is magic that made him feel this way, or was something definitely wrong with him?

                “Hi, Alfred,” a woman’s voice murmured said softly, drawing Alfred’s eyes away from the table to see a tall woman standing next to him with a wide-brimmed hat in her hand. Sheriff Marks, no doubt. She had brown hair that tied back in a tight bun, and her features were sharp and jagged. He struggled to put his hands back down into his lap and smile at the woman. She smiled back, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s good to have you back. We’ve been looking for a long time.” She sat down at the seat across the table from Alfred. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by earlier; there’s been a string of burglaries in the next town.”

                Alfred’s father sat next to Sheriff Marks with a serious, unforgiving scowl on his face. It was a little off-putting, but Alfred didn’t mind it as his mother sat next to him and patted Alfred’s should fondly.

                “Would you like some coffee?” His mother asked with a slightly trembling voice.

                “No,” Sheriff Marks didn’t turn away from Alfred, and her eyes narrowed slightly as Alfred squirmed beneath her gaze. “I think we should just get right into the questions. Is that okay with you, Alfred?”

                Alfred shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I guess.” His heart gave a lopsided thud, and Alfred felt his body twitch uncomfortably in response. Trying to play it cool, Alfred shrugged again. “Whatever.”

                “Great.” Sheriff Marks smiled – all teeth and no kindness – and pulled a small notebook from her pocket. “Okay, Alfred… do you know the name of the person who kidnapped you?”

                “He didn’t kidnap me –” Alfred started, but was interrupted by his father.

                “Arthur,” his father said quickly as Sheriff Marks wrote Arthur’s name in her notebook. “His name is Arthur. Alfred said he didn’t know his last name.”

                Sheriff Marks gave Alfred a disapproving frown. “That’s going to make it harder to find him.”

                “Well, sorry.” Alfred shrugged again as he lied. “I just don’t know his last name. Tough luck.”

                The sheriff sniffed and tapped her pen against the notepad. “What did he look like?”

                Alfred blinked. “What?”

                “What did… ‘Arthur,’ look like?” Sheriff Marks asked carefully, leaning across the table and squinting at Alfred like _he_ was the criminal. “I’ll need to file a report for Arthur so we can find him.”

                Alfred thought about how to describe him. There were tons of blond people in the world, and Alfred didn’t want them to be plucked off of the street because of the investigation. As Alfred pursed his lips, the sheriff narrowed her eyes.

                “He has red hair,” Alfred lied with a nod of his head. “Red hair, brown eyes… and he walks with a limp.”

                Sheriff Marks didn’t write that down. “What does the rest of him like? How tall, his body build… things like that.”

                “How tall?” Alfred echoed softly, blinking owlishly as he thought of Arthur’s inferior height. He squeezed his eyes shot as pain shot through his chest. “He’s tall,” he lied again. “Taller than me.”

                Again, the sheriff didn’t make a note of it. “How tall?”

                “I don’t know! Five eleven, six foot… something like that.” Alfred said spastically as his mother pat his shoulder. The action was surely meant to be soothing, but Alfred leaned away from the touch. He wanted Arthur to comfort him. “And he was fat,” Alfred said loudly, hearing his voice ring off of the kitchen walls. “Like, he was huge!” He could picture Arthur’s slim frame in his mind, and nearly feel the soft skin beneath his fingertips. Alfred’s chest throbbed painfully, and he reached up his hands to pull at his own hair, trying to block the pain with different sensations. “He was big and fat and loud,” all lies. Arthur was more demure than he was given credit. “And that’s what he looked like!” Alfred huffed with an air of finality, glaring at the tabletop.

                For a minute, the kitchen was quiet, say for the sound of Alfred’s heaving breaths. Thinking about Arthur hurt; lying about Arthur hurt even worse. Alfred’s father looked even more irritated at the flood of information, but Alfred’s mother seemed frightened, as if Alfred had become some sort of monster. Slowly sitting up straight, Alfred lowered his hands from his hair to frown at Sheriff Marks’ notebook. It only had Arthur’s name in it.

                Clicking her pen impatiently, Sheriff Marks went to the next question. “Fine. That’s fine… Now, Alfred, do you know where he took you?”

                Blinking slowly, Alfred reached up a hand to straighten his glasses. “Um, that’s kind of hard to explain –”

                “England.” Alfred’s mother interrupted swiftly as she tapped the tabletop quietly. Her wedding ring _clinked_ softly against the wood, and Sheriff Marks finally made a note in her pad of paper. “Alfred, you said England, didn’t you?”

                Giving his mother a cross expression, Alfred huffed. “I said _Britain_ , but yeah, sure. I guess that works.”

                Sheriff Marks gave Alfred a suspicious look. “How did you know it was Britain?”

                Alfred hesitated. How did he know? Everyone spoke with British or Irish accents in Spades, but how could he say that without sounding stupid?

                Licking his lips, Alfred took a deep breath. “Well, you know… everybody was just… talking with English accents, so…” he shrugged yet again, and Sheriff Marks pursed her lips. “I just figured.”

                “Who is everybody?” The Sheriff asked sharply. “Who else was with you and Arthur?”

                Alfred scrambled for an answer, looking between his parents desperately as they remained stoic and quiet. “That’s… who else? That’s not really… I mean, it’s not, um…”

                “You don’t have to protect him.” Marks said as she leaned forward, across the table. The line of her nose was sharp, and Alfred mused it was almost like a dagger as she stuck her nose into Alfred’s private feelings. “He’s a bad person, Alfred. You may not understand that right now, but he _is_ a bad man.” Alfred blinked slowly, and the sheriff nodded to herself. “You don’t need to protect him.”

                “I… I’m not,” Alfred said softly, looking for help from his mother. She merely pursed her lips and pat his shoulder twice, avoiding Alfred’s eyes. He turned back to the sheriff. “I’m not protecting him. He’s just… He’s not a bad person. He’s a good person who just… made a really bad choice.”

                “He’s been acting like this ever since he got home,” Alfred’s father told Marks, pointing an accusing finger at Alfred. “I think the he might’ve been brainwashed. Is there any way that,” he glanced at Alfred quickly before saying. “ _Arthur_ can be prosecuted for that, too?”

                “Brainwashing isn’t exactly a crime, Mr. Jones,” Sheriff Marks said with a speculative glint in her eyes as she watched Alfred. “But, impeding in an officer’s investigation _is_ a crime.” She folded her hands atop the table and stuck out her chin. “It’s called Obstruction of Justice, Alfred.”

                “Hey, _I’m_ the one that was taken!” Alfred retorted, poking at his own chest to emphasize his point. “ _I’m_ the victim! Don’t act like I’m the one who’s wrong!”

                “So you agree,” Marks said with a pointed click of her pen. “That you are a victim and Arthur is wrong?”

                “N-no! Well, yes, I guess. I mean, I know that I’m… the victim of this whole thing, but, I’m not _really_ a victim.” Alfred nervously straightened his glasses while his parents exchanged a nervous look. “I mean, he was just trying to do the right thing. I just… He kept me there because he was just trying to do the right thing.”

                “Alfred, that is the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.” Alfred’s father sat back and snorted. “How is it right to kidnap a child?”

                Turning to his father, Alfred slammed his fist on the table and stood up. “I am _not_ a child! You cannot speak to me that way!”

                For what seemed like a lifetime, the kitchen was silent. Alfred’s father looked like he was about to flip the table, and his mother was staring at him with a look of complete horror. It was as if he wasn’t the same person that they remembered. Alfred blinked; he really _wasn’t_ the same. He was stronger, more confident, and much more mature. Alfred was a King in Spades, and after living as a King for five months, he didn’t think he could go back to being the spacy, high school student his parents loved.

                Sheriff Marks, however, looked overjoyed that Alfred had spoken out. Almost as if she was trying to provoke him and gauge his reaction. Her lips were twisted into a strange smirk as she tried to hide her satisfaction. Alfred blinked. He’d been played. The officer was trying to make him lash out for an excuse to bring him in for an official interrogation.

                Sliding his fist off of the table, Alfred realized that he was felt more rejected in his old home than he ever felt in Spades. Arthur had never tried to get a rise out of him for some ulterior motive. Arthur plainly stated what he wanted. Arthur wasn’t a dishonest man. He’d just made one bad choice that was followed with a messy lie. But Arthur wasn’t a cruel man, he didn’t treat Alfred like his parents and the sheriff were… Alfred leaned forward a bit as his chest throbbed.

                “I’m sorry,” he gasped as his right hand kneaded the fabric of his shirt, trying to alleviate the sharp strike of pain in his heart. Sheriff Marks sat back with an unimpressed expression, twirling her pen in her hand as she gave Alfred a slow onceover. Glancing at his parents, Alfred struggled to smile as his father’s face flared a deep scarlet. “I… I don’t know why I said that.”

                “To be disrespectful?” Alfred’s father asked pointedly as he crossed his arms. “That’s what it sounded like.”

                “I didn’t mean to, I just…” Alfred felt his chest ache once more, and his eye closed tight as he grumbled, “I think I’m just tired.” He opened his eyes to fix Sheriff Marks with a sharp stare. “Can I talk to you some other time, Miss Marks? I’m gonna go lay down.”

                The sheriff tapped her pen against the table impatiently. “ _Sheriff_. It’s Sheriff Marks. Not ‘Miss.’”

                “Alfred, you can’t just walk away from this!” His father interjected, waving for him to sit down. Alfred’s mother made an angry noise in the back of her throat, signaling her husband to stop pressuring Alfred.

                “Honey, you go lay down. Whatever makes you feel better, baby.” His mother murmured as she pat his arm.

                Though Alfred had true intentions to go to his room and rest, he paused by the doorway of the kitchen to eavesdrop on his parents and the sheriff. What if she said Alfred wasn’t fit to live with his parents? What if she said he was insane? Where would he go? Would he be able to go back to Spades ever again? Alfred bit his lip and listened closely to the trio in the kitchen.

                A coffee cup was set down on the table, and his father sighed before he spoke. “So? What do you think?”

                Sheriff Marks clicked her pen. “Well, you were right. He’s definitely not the same kid you described to me when he went missing.”

                “He used to be so sweet and honest…” Alfred’s mother said with a painfully sad tone. “What should we do? Do you think we should take him to a therapist?”

                There was an audible sigh, but Alfred couldn’t tell who it belonged to. When there was the annoying click of a pen, Alfred guessed it might’ve belonged to Marks.

                “I think therapy would be best,” Sheriff Marks grumbled as she continued to click her pen. Alfred scowled as she finished with, “Or maybe a psychologist. Either way, it sounds like your son has been through some trauma and he’s trying to pretend that this ‘Arthur’ person never really hurt him.” Alfred winced at the mention of Arthur’s name, gripping his aching chest. Sheriff Marks huffed and said, “I’d check him into a hospital as soon as possible.”

                Psychologist? Hospital? Sheriff Marks must’ve thought Alfred was crazy after his protection and outburst about Arthur. If he stayed long enough for his parents to push him towards a hospital, what would the doctors do to him? What would they say about the scars on his back? Would they let Alfred explain, or would they automatically blame Arthur? No matter what the answer was, Alfred knew he didn’t want to find out. There was no way he was going to the hospital.

Slipping up the stairs as quietly as he could, Alfred crept into his room and closed the door behind himself as softly as he could. How long did he have until his parents came upstairs and demanded that he go to the hospital? Would they respectfully wait for Sheriff Marks to leave, or would they be marching up to his room within a matter of minutes?

Alfred’s heart started to pound. If he was taken to the hospital, he wouldn’t be able to go back to Spades… the card would still be trapped in his sock drawer. Should he put it into his pocket while he had the chance, or…

Scrambling to his drawer, Alfred’s chest heaved as he took short, panicked breaths. He didn’t want to stay in a place where no one liked what he’d become. He didn’t want to miss Arthur anymore. He was still upset, but he was also helplessly in love with his husband. Plucking the card from the drawer, Alfred raced to place it against his door.

As he looked at the card that magically stuck to the door, he took one slow, cleansing breath. He felt _relieved_ , and he hadn’t even walked through the door. Why did he wait so long to go back to Arthur? Pride? Pride hardly seemed important as his chest ached at the thought of his one and only lover. Gritting his teeth, Alfred closed his eyes and gripped the doorknob.

His parents would be fine without him. They’d been fine for five months, and when he came home, they acted like he was a stranger. They didn’t matter now, anyway. The only person Alfred was worried about was Arthur. So, with one last relieved sigh, Alfred turned the doorknob and opened the door.

It was nighttime in Spades, and Alfred slowly took in a heartwarmingly familiar view of Arthur’s study. Sallow moonlight gave the room a sad, blue hue, and Alfred took a deep breath of fresh air. The doors to the balcony stood wide open, and the gossamer curtains that flanked them fluttered as a crisp, late summer breeze washed through the room. Arthur’s desk was clear of papers, and his chair was vacant. Alfred blinked in confusion. The last time he’d come to Spades, he walked through a door to see Arthur. So, where was he?

                Turning his head to look at the rest of the room, Alfred noted at the pillows on the sofa were strewn across the floor. Had Arthur thrown them? A book was on the floor on the far left side of the room, past the sofa, but Alfred didn’t care about it. He was busy looking at the armchair next to the sofas. Arthur’s armchair. It was leaning against the side of the sofa, almost as if someone had simply pushed it to the side in an attempt to get to something else. For one sick, twisted moment, Alfred thought that Spades had been invaded, and Arthur had been hunted down by Samuel’s army.

                That was, until he saw the vague silhouette of a man outside on the balcony. It was nearly impossible to see him through the waves of the curtains, but once he stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself, he could clearly see Arthur leaning against the guardrail of the balcony. Stopping just for a second to pick up the card that appeared at his feet and put it on Arthur’s desk, Alfred took a slow breath and a walked out into the cool, Spades night.

                Arthur leaned heavily on the balcony, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders and he needed to take a moment of rest. Instead of his normal, crisp white shirt and vests that he normally wore, he worse a loose, cream colored shirt that tucked into his black trousers messily. It was as if he’d forgotten to dress himself properly before he left his room. As Alfred moved closer, he could see Arthur’s hands clenched against the marble stone of the railing. Was he trying to hold himself to reality, or was he fighting the urge to jump? Alfred didn’t want to know.

                Alfred stopped a few steps behind Arthur, pulling at the hem of his pale, orange t-shirt uneasily; what would he say? _I’m sorry I left you?_ No, that didn’t seem right. How could he apologize for leaving? How could he begin to explain how he had felt betrayed? Licking his lips, Alfred pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the stone floor.

                Arthur spoke first. “Come back… to yell at me, my King?”

                Alfred’s heart clenched at the sound of Arthur’s voice. He’d missed that velvet sound, that soothing music… even though it was somewhat broken, Alfred knew that he loved it.

                “No.” He said finally, leaning his weight onto his left foot. “No, I’m not going to yell.”

                Arthur didn’t look away from his view of the capitol city. “Then what will you have of me?”

                Moving naturally, Alfred stepped forward and slowly, carefully, wrapped his arms around Arthur’s torso. He felt the way Arthur’s body tensed at first, then quickly relaxed beneath his hands. Alfred took another step, and his chest was pressed against Arthur’s back. Arthur took a sharp breath, and Alfred pressed closer, tucking his nose into Arthur’s neck. Slipping his hands away from the railing, Arthur gripped Alfred’s arms and held him tight.

                “Alfred,” Arthur murmured, and god did Alfred love the sound of his name on Arthur’s lips. He’d missed everything about Arthur. And when he whispered again, Alfred listened painfully close. “Alfred, my love, my darling…”

                Alfred paused to think about what he wanted to say, then murmured his honest opinion against Arthur’s neck. “I missed you,” a pause, and Alfred added, “I’m still mad, but I missed you.”

                Arthur’s body tensed again. “Is that the only reason you’ve come back?” He asked sadly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Because you missed me?”

                “I missed everything,” Alfred said as he took a cleansing breath. “I missed you, I missed Spades… I couldn’t even sleep well without you.”

                “Neither could I.”

                Alfred smiled, then pursed his lips. “Did you send Juliana?”

                A pause. “What?”

                “Did you send Juliana to talk to me?” Alfred asked as he tightened his hold on Arthur’s waist. Arthur made a discomforted noise, but Alfred didn’t loosen his hold. “Because I saw her. She was in my dreams… just once, though. She only talked to me one time and then… then she was just gone.”

                “That’s not possible,” Arthur breathed softly as a chilling breeze blew past them. “I didn’t summon her with my magic… even if I _had,_ I would have to be there to communicate with you through her.” He paused for a moment to lean back against Alfred a bit more, and Alfred spread his feet further apart to compensate the extra weight. Arthur took a final breath and murmured, “Furthermore, if I had summoned her, I would be exhausted.”

                Alfred licked his lips. “Arthur… you _look_ exhausted.”

                “I haven’t been sleeping well,” Arthur sighed, “I’ve grown so used to you holding me while I sleep, I can’t find any comfort without you by my side.”

                “Me, too…” Alfred nodded softly, pausing just long enough to turn Arthur around in his arms and look down into Arthur’s wary, emerald irises. Arthur’s hands slid up his chest and cupped Alfred’s cheeks, giving him an infinite sense of honey-coated nostalgia. Trying to remain serious, Alfred bit back a smile as he kneaded his fingers against the small of Arthur’s back. “You know I’m still mad about this whole thing, right?”

                There was an immediate reaction in Arthur’s expression; his eyes turned watery and his face flushed darkly in the pale moonlight. Taking a trembling breath, Arthur nodded twice. “Yes, I know.”

                “Good.” Alfred said solidly, patting Arthur’s back comfortingly. “I know that I want to come back, but… things won’t be the same.” He took a breath, looked up at the star-studded sky, and continued. “I mean, this really messed me up… and for a second, I thought that I didn’t want anything to do with you, anymore.”

                “I’m sorry,” Arthur breathed as his hands gripped the sides of Alfred’s face desperately. “Alfred, I know that keeping the card from you was wrong, and I –”

                “I wasn’t finished, sweetheart,” Alfred interrupted smoothly, reaching up to gently pull Arthur’s hand from his face. He held those hands tight in his own as he spoke. “I don’t believe in your gods. I can’t, and I probably never will.” Arthur made a sour face, and Alfred was quick to continue with a small smile. “But, I can believe in fate.”

                “Oh?” Arthur questioned softly with a tilt of his head.

                Alfred nodded. “I know that I was born to love you, and born to be with you… and even though I’m mad, I know that we can get through this.” Alfred blinked at Arthur’s glistening eyes, and smiled wider. Arthur really was regretful. His parents were wrong… Sheriff Marks was wrong. Arthur wasn’t terrible; he just made a bad mistake. “It was just one bad thing,” Alfred murmured, “One bad choice that I handled really badly. I’m sorry.”

                “N-no,” Arthur sputtered, slipping his hands away from Alfred’s to wrap around Alfred’s shoulders and pull him close. “No, I’m sorry. I’m the only one who should be apologizing.”

                Sighing into Arthur’s soft, blond hair, Alfred finally felt at peace with himself. There, in Arthur’s arms, was the tranquility that he simply couldn’t find in his old dimension anymore. There was nothing left for him back there, say for his parents that couldn’t accept him as he was. Everything led back to Spades and Arthur; the only place Alfred wanted to call “home.”

                “I’m home,” Alfred said finally, taking a breath as Arthur let out a tiny, relieved sob. He hadn’t been able to say it to his parents, but… Spades really _was_ home. “I’m _home_ ,” he repeated breathlessly. “And I’m sorry I ever left.”

                “I’m sorry I lied,” Arthur mumbled into the fabric of Alfred’s t-shirt, clinging to his shoulders desperately as he did so. Alfred rolled his shoulders back to signal that Arthur should loosen his grip, and he did, no bout leaving Alfred with small crescent-shaped indents in his skin where Arthur’s nails had dug in. “I know that it was selfish… and cowardly of me, and I know that it was wrong, but I… I understand, now. I think I’ve always understood. You just wanted freedom, didn’t you?”

Alfred blinked slowly, and Arthur went on, “You didn’t want to leave Spades forever, you simply wanted the option to go as you please. You didn’t want that option to be controlled…” Arthur paused, and Alfred could hear the smile in his voice when he finished. “You’ve _always_ craved freedom. I was a fool for not seeing it sooner. And for that, I apologize once more.”

Rationality hit Alfred like a brick wall, and he was left wide-eyed and impressed. “That’s it. That’s what I’ve been feeling. How… how did you know that? _I_ didn’t even know what I felt.”

Arthur hummed against his shoulder and pat Alfred’s back softly. “It’s because I know you very, very well, my dear. And after you left, I realized that I had done something… _terribly_ wrong. I had stolen something that makes you… _you_. Your thirst for freedom, your urge for justice… I ignored both of those things. I ignored what you so desperately wanted. I hid the card from you, and paid the price.”

Pushing Arthur back a bit, Alfred looked down at Arthur’s tear streaked face. The trails of tears glittered like starlight on Arthur’s porcelain cheeks, and his eyes reflected the light of the full moon above them. It was tragically beautiful, and Alfred was breathless at the sight. He carefully brushed his thumb over Arthur’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen, only to have Arthur blink and create fresh tears that stained Alfred’s fingers.

His perfect match, his only love… was crying. And he caused it. Not wanting his return to be filled with Arthur’s self-loathing, Alfred leaned down and kissed his husband. It might not have been enough to erase the guilt that Arthur felt, and it definitely wasn’t enough to stave off the irritation that still lingered in Alfred’s heart, but it was enough to make the both of them grasp at each other desperately and pull each other closer.

The embrace was torrid and smothering, and their teeth clicked against each other’s as they sought out more, but Alfred wouldn’t have had it any other way. His hands fit against the curve of Arthur’s hips and the dip of his back just as they always had, and Arthur’s fingers tangled in his hair and slid over his shoulder, just as they did before he left. Just for a second, as Arthur opened his mouth and Alfred gladly licked along his bottom lip, it was as if nothing had changed. They trusted each other and ached for each other, possessively holding and forcefully grasping whatever they could to assert their feelings.

“I should go back,” Alfred said abruptly when he pulled back for air. Arthur made a confused noise, and Alfred ducked his head to kiss him again before grumbling, “I should at least say goodbye. I never said goodbye before.”

Arthur pressed himself close to Alfred, canting his hips forward and dragging Alfred’s face close to his as he murmured, “Say goodbye… to your parents, I assume?”

Grabbing the back of Arthur’s thighs, Alfred hefted Arthur up until his legs wound around his waist and Arthur’s hands braced themselves on his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said quickly, holding Arthur steady as the Queen ducked down to lick at the seam of Alfred’s lips. He moaned at the sensation, and briefly debated forgetting the idea and throwing Arthur onto the floor of the study and simply taking him there. No, that wouldn’t do… Arthur was a practical man, if not an impatient one. He would want to go to the bedroom. Reigning in his thoughts, Alfred tried again. “I should just tell them the truth; I’m better off here, and I don’t want to go back there anymore.”

“How insightful, my love,” Arthur gasped before grabbing Alfred’s hair and pulling it so Alfred’s head tilted back to look at Arthur. His glasses were askew, and his hair was starting to fall into his eyes, but he didn’t care. He was distracted by the heat in Arthur’s eyes and the urgency on his lips as he breathed, “Perhaps you could say goodbye tomorrow?”

Letting Arthur’s legs slide away from his waist, Alfred set Arthur down on his feet. His hands slowly traced the sides of Arthur’s body, from the long line of his legs to the smooth curve of his hips… Alfred pressed the tips of his hands against the ridges of Arthur’s ribcage. It felt like every inch of Arthur was new, and he’d never explored it before, even though he’d seen Arthur completely naked only three days earlier. Nonetheless, he wanted to memorize every bit of Arthur all over again, and nothing was going to stop him.

“Tomorrow,” Alfred agreed with a nod, taking Arthur’s hand and pulling him away from the balcony and back into the study, past the desk and to the doorway that led to the hall. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow. They can wait,” he turned around to kiss Arthur soundly, and he inhaled the comforting scent of lilacs before he sighed once more, “They can wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Welcome back, love._  
>  We're getting close to the end, folks!  
> Thank you for reading.  
> See you next chapter!


	23. Fatum

                “All right, so… If I’m not back in twenty minutes, you should come looking for me.” Alfred said hastily as he buttoned his silver-colored vest with shaking hands. Part of him was happy to go back and tell his parents that he was staying in Spades, the other part of him was dreading how they might respond to that statement. “Yeah, definitely come looking for me. Who knows what they’ll say? Probably something crazy,” Alfred blinked down at his trembling hands, and nodded fervently. “So, keep an eye on the clock.”

                Arthur was sitting on their bed with a troubled expression, picking at his fingernails nervously as Alfred finished buttoning his shirt. “Alfred, if you’re that concerned about going back, perhaps you shouldn’t go at all.”

                Glancing up at Arthur, Alfred straightened his glasses, then shook his head. “No, no… I should go. Last time I disappeared, my parents made a report to the police –” Arthur made a confused expression, and Alfred tried again. “They sent out search parties for me, and Sheriff Marks,” another perplexed look from Arthur, and Alfred reworked the words. “I mean… _General_ Marks, was at the head of the hunt. She was… pretty upset about me going missing.”

                Arthur’s hands pulled nervously at his collar, as if he couldn’t breathe quite right. “This… this General Marks… is she someone important in your life?”

                “What? No, no… not really. My parents know her more than I do,” Alfred looked down at his buttons and noticed that they were buttoned into the wrong holes, making his vest crooked. Giving an angry, flustered noise, Alfred flapped his arms at his sides until Arthur stood up and came to unbutton his vest. “Sheriff Marks… I mean, _General_ Marks isn’t a really nice lady. You wouldn’t like her.”

                “I doubt I would…” Arthur grumbled crossly as he buttoned Alfred’s vets correctly.

                Alfred cocked his head to the side and smiled a little. “Are you… are you _jealous_ of General Marks?”

                Arthur blinked spastically and looked up at Alfred with wide eyes. “Wha-… Jealous?” As Arthur’s cheeks took on a dark red tint, Alfred smiled wider. “I… I’m not jealous, Alfred. Don’t be preposterous. I can’t be jealous of a woman I’ve never met.”

                Laughing loudly enough that his voice rang off of the walls of the bedroom, Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, clasping his hands together at the small of his back. “You _are_ jealous. I’ve been noticing this side of you, ya’ know. It’s cuter than you give it credit.”

                Arthur scowled. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

                Leaning forward to nuzzle Arthur’s cheek with his nose, Alfred smiled. “I think it’s interesting that you can be jealous… especially after what I did to you last night.” He felt Arthur give an abrupt jolt, as if he wanted to be released, but no noise of protest came from his lips. Alfred pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek. “I’ve never loved anyone else but you, Arthur… and I never will. I’ve only touched you, only made love to you…” Arthur pressed close to him, and Alfred held him tighter. “No one else can ever compare to you, sweetheart.”

                Arthur grumbled something angrily, and Alfred rolled his eyes when he heard, “You could simply stay and not go back… you don’t _have_ to go see your parents.”

                Releasing Arthur, Alfred stepped back and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “I need to say goodbye this time, Arthur,” he kissed Arthur’s cheeks, “They need to know I’m not just running away or being kidnapped,” he kissed Arthur’s nose, “I need to tell them that I love Spades,” he kissed Arthur’s chin, and finally murmured, “And I need to tell them that I love _you._ ” Alfred finally kissed Arthur’s parted lips, drinking in the soft moan that came from the back of his husband’s throat. When he pulled away, Alfred gave Arthur a stern expression as he ordered, “But seriously. Keep an eye on the clock. Twenty minutes. If I’m not back, hunt me down. Strike down anyone in your path to find me. Figuratively… not literally.”

                Arthur huffed and nodded robotically. “Yes, darling. Twenty minutes. I’ll mind my pocket watch.”

                Alfred grinned and walked over to the small desk at the side of their room, snatching up the card that would take him back to his old dimension. “Are you gonna time how long I’m gone?”

                “Oh, my dearest, I’ll be counting the seconds to your return…” Arthur said breathlessly as he pulled his pocket watch from his small vest pocket.

                Alfred snorted and placed the card on the door. “Wow… dramatic much?”

                Glancing back at Arthur, Alfred watched with a bemused expression as his husband sat down on the bed and started fanning himself with his hand.

                “Go on, Alfred,” Arthur sighed sadly as he fanned himself with one hand and held the pocket watch high in the air with the other. “Leave me to see your parents. I may just resort to a swoon.”

                “Poor baby,” Alfred groaned sadly as he opened the door of their bedroom. He glanced through the doorway, happily noting that it was indeed his bedroom it the other dimension. Leaving the door open, Alfred scuttled back to the side of their bed, kissed Arthur quickly, and went back to the doorway, blowing Arthur one last kiss. “Don’t miss me too hard, Arthur! I’ll be back before you know it!”

                “It’s impossible not to miss you,” Arthur said with a tired tone. “My soul is broken without you.”

                Alfred hesitated to the close the door behind himself, shouting through the doorway, “Hey, don’t guilt me out of this! I’m saying goodbye to my parents and coming right back.”

                There was loud _whoosh_ of air, and the sound of rustling fabric; Arthur probably laid back on the bed quickly. “Then go, my love. Come home soon.”

                “I will,” Alfred muttered as he shut the door. He looked around the bedroom for a moment, glaring at the clothes in the closet and the hockey gear hanging on the wall. Had he really been in that room only the day before? It felt foreign and out of place… he didn’t belong here. Looking down at his feet, Alfred noted that the card had appeared there, and he tucked it into his vest carefully before turning around to face the door. “Okay… clean cut, Alfred.” He coached himself quietly, wringing his hands in the air impatiently. “In and out. Hello… goodbye. Go back to Spades… maybe make out with Arthur for a little while… no big deal. Easy.” Alfred grabbed the doorknob and nodded to himself. “Easy. Just a little goodbye.”

                Glancing back at his room one last time, Alfred noted that only six short hours had passed since he told his parents he was going to lay down. In those six hours, he’d had sex with Arthur, took a nap with him, and then took a long, languid bath where he passed a sponge over Arthur’s skin much slower than he needed to. In short, he’d had a long day, and his time schedules were getting mixed up between the difference in Spades and his old dimension.

                But that didn’t matter now, Alfred reasoned as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway of his parent’s house. He was simply there to extend the formality of an official farewell. It was just one, small message. Easily handled and delivered. At least, that’s what Alfred hoped as he trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen.

                His mother and father were sitting at the dining table, pointing at the screen of their shared laptop and mumbling something to each other secretively. Their whispers were most likely meant to be intimate, but Alfred could see that his mother and father were on two different pages in their conversation. His father’s face was red with frustration, but his mother looked like she was about to cry when her husband pointed something out on the screen and grumbled something in a feverish tone.

                Alfred didn’t even have to announce himself before his parents noticed him standing in the doorway. His mother looked up from the computer and hastily slammed the laptop shut, and though Alfred didn’t really care, he winced at the _crack_ of the screen as it may have been broken. Alfred’s mother gave his attire a confused look, and when his father looked up, he could see the disappointment reflected in his eyes. Disappointment in Alfred’s clothing, or in Alfred altogether? With his luck, it was probably both. But it didn’t matter what his parents thought, now. He was just there to say goodbye.

                “Honey,” his mother started slowly, carefully… like she was afraid of Alfred’s reaction. Or, perhaps, she was simply afraid of _Alfred_. “What’s...” she indicated to Alfred’s clothing with a loose gesture, and Alfred breathed out a sigh through his nose as she struggled to articulate a proper question. “Alfie, where did you get all of –”

                Alfred took a step closer to the table, and with that one step, his mother’s words fell away. It was as if Alfred had shaken the foundation of her voice, and his movement blocked her ability to speak. Raising his head and smoothing a hand over the front of his silver vest, Alfred spoke clearly and loudly; just as Arthur had told him to address foreign leaders and ambassadors.

“We need to talk.” When his parents remained quiet – one with a startled expression and one with a frown that threatened to break their face in half – Alfred continued. “I came back here with the thought that I had been tricked or deceived; I was wrong.” As his father open his mouth to no doubt disagree, Alfred held up a silencing hand and continued to speak to his parents with a distant, almost cold tone. “It’s not that I don’t miss the two of you, and I don’t want you to think that you’ve done anything wrong, it’s simply the fact that I can’t stay here, anymore.”

“Baby,” his mother said quickly, almost standing from the table. “Wait just a minute –”

Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head solemnly. “Please, listen to me. I’m not dramatizing, and,” he sent a sharp look at his father, “I’m not crazy. I’m just trying to tell you what’s going on in my life. And,” Alfred took a breath, “I don’t think I’ll be coming back here.”

Not wasting any time, Alfred’s father stood from the table abruptly and shook his head. As if that would stop Alfred from returning to Spades. Alfred blinked at the older man slowly; he almost felt sorry for him. It was as if there were still sparks of control left in him and he was eager to use them, but Alfred was resistant to the current; uncontrolled and untamable. Even after his father shook his head and walked around the table with a flurry of denials flying from his lips, Alfred stayed put with a sorrowful expression. Who was this man?

Where was his father that loved him and supported him through all of his endeavors? Where was the physics professor that taught him impossible calculations at the age of eight, and tutored him through middle school? Where the man who told him it was fine to like girls _and_ boys, and said that he didn’t need to hide who he was? Where was his father, and who was the compulsive, controlling man that replaced him?

Sighing just a bit, Alfred reasoned that his father and mother must’ve changed during his five months in Spades. At least, they changed enough to make Alfred feel like an outsider. They didn’t unconditionally accept him the same way they used to, and even as he tried to take his own path, they were trying to force him back down into his old place their home. The only problem with that… he just didn’t _fit_ in that place anymore. He’d grown too much. He’d become stronger and braver, he’d learned to be much more compassionate and understanding, and even how to give a healthy amount of pity.

Alfred blinked in recognition; his parents didn’t really know him anymore. It’s why they clung to what they used to know, why they refused to accept his choices… they couldn’t let go of the Alfred they once knew. It was almost sad, but Alfred knew that he truly didn’t care. This wasn’t his home anymore, and old opinions had no place in his new life.

                Nonetheless, his father shook his head with angry determination, waving his hands back and forth as if he could cut Alfred’s ideas in half. “No. No, absolutely not!” He said quickly as Alfred’s mother looked up at him with wide eyes. “Alfred, you don’t know what’re doing; you’re _sick_ , you’ve been lied to…”

                “I know,” Alfred said calmly, raising his hands in surrender as his father’s flushed face took on a panicked expression. “I know that he lied; but he knows what he did was wrong. He knows that it was a mistake, and…” Alfred looked to the floor and smiled at the thought of the tears that had fallen from Arthur’s perfect eyes; melancholy happiness, forgotten recollections… the sadness had brought him more happiness than he could understand. Arthur loved him, and he loved Arthur. Looking back up to his parents, Alfred smiled wider. “And I know that he was sorry. Now I’m gonna go back to him.”

                “Back to your kidnapper?” Alfred’s mother said quickly, standing up at the table and leaning her palms against the hardwood surface. Alfred’s father nodded along with her, giving Alfred several hand gestures that had no meaning.

                “Exactly; Alfred, are you _listening_ to yourself? Do you know how insane you sound?” He pointed at Alfred’s clothing and snorted, “Do you know how insane you _look_? You’re dressed up like you’re going to some kind of costume party!” Alfred rolled his eyes, and his father finished with, “Alfred, listen to us –”

                “Why?” Alfred asked crossly, shrugging sadly as he did. “Why do I need to listen? You aren’t listening to me, so why do I need to extend the same curtesy?”

                Alfred’s father made a flabbergasted noise. “See? You don’t even talk like yourself anymore!”

                Feeling his chest grow tight with frustration, Alfred huffed. “How would you know? You haven’t even seen me in five months!”

                While Alfred’s mother held a hand to her heart as if she’d been physically hurt by the statement, Alfred’s father took a step closer to Alfred and jabbed a finger against Alfred’s chest pointedly.

                “We haven’t seen you because you were _kidnapped_ , Alfred.”

                Alfred shook his head in frustration. “You’re not listening to me!”

                “We are listening, baby,” his mother sighed, “We just… Alfie, we’re trying to help you. You need to see a doctor.”

                Taking a step back from his father, Alfred touched his chest, feeling the card press against his chest, safe and secure. He could just give up now, and leave. If he wanted to, that was. He could simply walk to the front door and be finished with his parents. Feeling his determination double in size, Alfred nodded to himself.

                “You know what? I don’t even know why I bothered to come back.” His father blinked spastically, and Alfred continued. “I should have just said ‘goodbye’ and walked away. It would’ve been easier for all of us.” He paused to take a breath, and took another step back as he said, “Mom, Dad… I love you. Both of you. But, I’m leaving.”

                “No!” his father said once more, breathing in anger and exhaling a burning kind of frustration. “Alfred, you don’t know what you’re saying!”

                “Yes I do!” Alfred said desperately, stepping forward and crowding his father’s personal space. “I know what I’m saying! At least, I know better than _you_.”

                His father’s eyes darkened to a disapproving, stormy blue. “Alfred –”

                “No. No, it’s my turn to tell you that you’re wrong.” Alfred stated boldly as he took a step back cockily. “You don’t even know what I’ve been doing for five months… you don’t even know where I was!” When his mother made a move to speak, he held up a hand and shook his head, denying her the chance. “I wasn’t in _England_ ,” he growled, “I wasn’t even in Britain! I just said that to give you an excuse! I went to a beautiful place with wonderful people, and Arthur,” he paused to look at his father before saying, “Arthur never tried to lock me up.”

                “Alfred, he kidnapped you –”

                Alfred laughed just once. “No, he didn’t! He brought me there and closed the door behind me. But if I wanted to go out, he let me! I told him I wanted to go outside, and he went with me! He never stopped me or hid me from the world!” Alfred felt his heart clench at the thought of Arthur, but he ignored it. “Arthur gave me everything I ever wanted! He wanted me to be happy, and I want him to be happy, too!” Pausing to take a breath, Alfred looked between his parents slowly.

“It was my own fault that I couldn’t go back…” Alfred murmured sadly, “I was _meant_ to be there, and… and I didn’t understand that at first. That’s why I couldn’t find the way back.” Alfred blinked slowly with a frown, and sighed a bit. “I was never trapped there, I was trapped in the idea… the _illusion_ that I was in the wrong place.”

                As Alfred’s mother fluttered her fingers over her lips, his father huffed. They looked lost and helpless, trapped beneath confusion and turned in circles by miscommunication. Alfred stood before them loosely, debating whether or not to turn away. He could, if he wanted. He could go back to Spades and hold Arthur close. He could forget that this dimension ever existed, and tear the magical card in half. He could turn his back to his parents and run away, if he wanted.

                But when his father’s eyes started to look teary, Alfred hesitated.

                “Sheriff Marks said you’d act like this,” his father grumbled crossly, and Alfred’s heart plummeted down into his stomach. They still weren’t listening. “Alfie, we didn’t know it was _this bad_. You’re confused… you’re sick. You need to be taken care of… we’re taking you to the hospital.”

                Alfred stumbled back frantically as his father reached for him, only to have his back hit the wall of the kitchen abruptly. “W-wait!” Alfred stuttered, looking to and fro for some sort of defensive item he could use keep his parents away. No such thing was in reach. “Wait a second! You just need to listen to me! _I’m not crazy!_ ”

                “Of course not, baby,” Alfred mother said in a soothing tone as she picked up her purse from the middle of the table and walked towards him. Alfred knew he was cornered, and his muscles tensed in preparation to tackle his advancing father if the need arose. His mother smiled sadly as she pulled her car keys from her purse slowly. “We’re just trying to help you, honey.”

                “You’re not listening,” Alfred hissed as he inched along the side of the wall to the doorway. His father was one step ahead of him, and stood in the doorway as a clear obstacle. Alfred looked around the room desperately; there were no doors that he could put the card on to escape. He was trapped. “Guys, just – just, like… listen to me for a second!”

                “We looked it all up online, honey.” His mother said gently, “We know that you must feel paranoid, but you need to trust us. We’re trying to help you.”

                “I don’t need help!” Alfred shouted, feeling his chest constrict painfully; he wanted to go home. He wanted to be with Arthur. He didn’t want to be afraid of his own parents… he just wanted to _leave_. “You… you’re just not _listening!_ ”

                Trying to prove that he was frustrated, Alfred slammed his fist against the wall, earning a satisfying _crack_ as his hand met the surface. What Alfred hadn’t expected was his fist going _through_ the wall. It was as if the wall was tissue paper, and though there was definitely a thick, solid surface to stop the movement of his hand, his fist went flying through the wall and out the other side.

                Pulling his hand back through the wall quickly, Alfred watched as drywall and bits of the wall came with it. There was a large, lopsided hole in the wall where his hand had gone through, but when Alfred looked at his hand, he couldn’t believe that he’d done it. If he punched a hole in the wall, wouldn’t his hand hurt? Shouldn’t it have been harder than pushing his hand through a piece of paper?

                Alfred looked at his dust-covered hand with wide eyes, he felt his lips turned up in a slight smile. Was this supposed to be the strength of Spades that he was promised when he finally understood what it meant to be King? Lifting his eyes, Alfred saw his mother staring at the wall in unabashed horror. Obviously, punching the wall hard enough to gouge a hole in it was a bit frightening. Turning to his father, Alfred was amused to see him watching Alfred with wide, disbelieving eyes.

                “Okay,” Alfred said lowly, opening booth of his hands in front of him experimentally. His right hand looked white and chalky from the crumbled drywall while his left hand was still red from being clenched in a fist. Flexing his fingers slowly, Alfred was happy to note that each finger still worked and nothing hurt. Was the strength of Spades somewhat like invulnerability? Nothing hurt, but he should’ve earned some damage. Looking back to his parents, Alfred smiled a little wider. “Okay, so… You guys should really listen to me. This is pretty important.”

                “Alfred,” his father said carefully, stepping forward with his hands extended in front of him. It looked like he was trying to reach out to Alfred while simultaneously trying to block some sort of foreseen attack. “Alfred, please. Just –”

                Before his father could finish, Alfred watched the wall behind him crack and start to divide. A large rectangle, almost big enough to be a doorway, was indented into the wall bit by bit. The house rumbled a little as the ‘doorway’ was carved, and Alfred’s parents stared at the wall with terrified eyes. They both scooted away from the wall and towards Alfred, as if his newfound strength would somehow save them from whatever it was that was pushing the wall.

                “Alfred,” his mother said with a warning tone. Alfred looked to her spastically. Did she think Alfred was the cause of the doorway? Though she didn’t give Alfred an answer, she gripped his bicep for support at the house continued to rattle. “Alfred, what is that?”

                While the china plates in the cabinets continued to clatter nervously, Alfred shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not me,” he said quickly when his father looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. “It _can’t_ be me. I’d have to be pushing from the opposite side of the wall.”

                His father nodded in agreement, but didn’t look satisfied with the answer as he watched the wall crack and splinter around the makeshift doorway. Alfred narrowed his eyes; was this some sort of magic from Spades? Was Arthur trying to force his way into the dimension? Alfred blinked. How long had he been arguing with his parents? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Had it been long enough that Arthur started to worry about him and decided to come looking? Alfred wasn’t sure; he hadn’t been watching the clock.

                The only thing he knew for sure was that this magic was almost frightening. It looked like someone was pulling a doorway from the wall piece by piece, splintering the wood and drywall with their bare hands to make way for something new. When there was one final _crack_ that echoed through the house and the rattling stopped, Alfred held his breath.

                He braced himself for Arthur to push the indented rectangle of the wall out with an effortless push. He waited to see Arthur step into the room languidly and smile at him. He waited, but as the seconds started to drag into minutes, his confidence in Arthur started to shake. There was simply a doorway-sized rectangle indented in the wall surrounded by spider web cracks tracing the outline of it. It was surreal, and somehow caused by magic, but where was the magician who made it appear?

                Stepping away from the clinging hands of his parents, Alfred moved towards the ‘doorway’ carefully. The house was hushed, and not even Alfred’s parents dared to make a sound as Alfred stood a liberal four steps from the wall. There was something in the back of Alfred’s brain that was frantically screaming at him; an alarm was being sounded for something, but Alfred had no idea what it was. Like a fight or flight reaction, the tingling feeling in his head made him take a step back from the wall. Something was wrong… But what _was_ it?

                Just as Alfred started to question the validity of the reaction he had, another piercing echo of splintering wood echoed through the kitchen. The indented doorway was moving, caving inward as something pulled it away from the other side. Alfred took several steps back, frantically holding his arms out in front of his parents as if to protect them. Protect them… from what? Surely, Arthur was behind the door in all of his royal glory. Alfred hesitated to reassure himself as the doorway opened wider to reveal a very familiar bedroom. Alfred’s heart nearly stopped.

                It was his and Arthur’s bedroom. It was raining, given the fact that lightening illuminated the room as thunder rumbled in the distance. The table that always held a vase of flowers was tipped over, and shards of the broken vase littered the floor, forgotten. The oil lamp on their bedside table had been knocked onto the floor, and there was a pool of fire were the oil was starting to drip and spread. The rest of the room was in disarray, but Alfred was more distracted by the sound of strange voices shouting commands. They were too far away… what were they yelling?

                Taking a harried step forward, Alfred had the sole intention of finding Arthur and assuring he was safe, only to be stopped when he saw Arthur stumble through the doorway backwards. Though his blond hair was a bit mussed and he wasn’t standing up straight, Arthur looked completely normal. Alfred waited with bated breath as Arthur lifted his shaking hands to the sides of the doorway he’d created, and watched silently as Arthur pulled it shut behind him. When the doorway was finally sealed, the strange voices Alfred heard were silenced, and Alfred was left with his parents and Arthur in the kitchen in an uncomfortable hush.

                Casting a glance at his parents over his shoulder, Alfred realized that his parents might’ve been in shock. His father’s face was white, and his mother looked one breath away from fainting. Arthur, on the other hand, looked relieved that he’d made it through the doorway as he leaned forward against it, pressing his face into the wall as he took long, shallow breaths. Alfred squinted. That wasn’t right… why wasn’t he turning to face Alfred? Where was his beautiful smile? Where was a sharp, witty comment? What was _happening_ in Spades?”

                “Arthur,” Alfred murmured carefully as he stepped forward, ready to take Arthur into his arms. “Arthur, are you okay?” Arthur didn’t move from the wall, and Alfred licked his lips anxiously. “You… the bedroom…” There was a slight shrug of Arthur’s shoulders, and Alfred felt the alarm in the back of his head kick into high gear. Something was very wrong. “Arthur?”

                When Alfred was finally given a reply, it wasn’t Arthur’s voice that answered him. It was in fact the dulcet, echoing tones of the voice that haunted his dreams and made his head spin.

                “Oh, Alfred,” Juliana sighed, and Alfred could almost see the blue glow of Arthur’s eyes against the wall as he stepped closer. “You sound so… worried.”

                “Well, you know me.” Alfred said as he lifted his hands to Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m always a worrier.”

                Juliana laughed at that; a low, tired chuckle. “Liar,” she breathed, “You’re much too carefree to worry.”

                Alfred’s father took a step forward, apparently broken out of his appalled state. “Alfred… what’s –”

                “Shush.” Alfred ordered crisply, looking back at Arthur’s slumped position immediately after. “Juliana, I know you like playing mind games, but I need a straight answer.” There was no response, and Alfred felt his heart pound nervously. “Juliana, what’s going on?”

                “He was waiting for you,” Juliana muttered as Alfred turned Arthur around. Alfred felt his stomach heave as he stumbled back a few steps. Blood stained the front of Arthur’s vest, and it was quickly spreading down as Arthur fell back against the doorway. Juliana didn’t seemed phased by Alfred’s reaction, and opted to merely bring Arthur’s hand up to cover the stab wound just beneath his heart. “Arthur was waiting for you… His eyes were closed just for a moment. He never saw it coming.”

                Alfred’s head was swimming at the sight of blood, and his felt his stomach give another disgusted flop, but he swallowed down the urge to throw up. Arthur was hurt. He had to focus. Stepping forward again, Alfred pressed his hands against the wound, hearing Arthur give a sharp cry of protest.

                “No! Alfred!” Lifting his eyes from Arthur’s blood covered vest, Alfred saw Arthur’s vivid, green eyes wide with distress. Alfred blinked spastically; where had Juliana gone? Just as quickly as he’d seen it, Alfred watched in slight horror as Arthur’s eyes rolled back, closed, and opened again to reveal the glowing, ethereal blue light of magic. “Now, _that_ is very painful.” Juliana said in a tone that suggested slight discomfort. Alfred rolled his eyes as his hands shook. “Where was I?”

                Alfred huffed. “Arthur didn’t see it coming?”

                “Ah, yes,” Juliana said with a smile. “The castle is under siege, my dear King.”

                “What?” Alfred shrieked, leaning his weight into his hands as he leaned forward. There was another scream from Arthur’s lips, but he couldn’t tell who it came from, nor did he care. “The castle is under attack and you didn’t think to tell me _right away_?”

                There was movement behind him, but Alfred didn’t turn away from Arthur’s distraught expression. “It was an ambush! And you seemed rather keen on assessing my brother’s health,” Juliana spat, using Arthur’s hands to claw at the front of Alfred’s vest. Arthur’s hands were slick with blood, and it was smeared across Alfred’s vest, but he didn’t bother to look at it. He was busy glaring into the endless pools of blue that were Arthur’s eyes. “Also, I’m rather distracted by the amount of strength Arthur is using to keep himself alive. It’s astonishing, isn’t it?” Juliana asked rhetorically, “How easily humans can die.”

                When there was a significant enough clatter for Alfred to turn away from Arthur, he saw his mother scrambling to type something into her cell phone while his father stood stationary with his eyes wide in disbelief. It was understandable that his father was still distraught; he was a man of science, and couldn’t readily accept the idea of a magic doorway that appeared from nowhere. Looking back to his mother, Alfred pulled his hands away from Arthur’s torso and stumbled towards her.

                “W-what are you doing? Mom!” His mother looked at him with wide, panicked eyes, and Alfred raised his hands in surrender, only seeing the glistening red blood that covered them. He lowered them immediately; he must’ve looked terrifying. “Mom, don’t call anyone.”

                “Alfred, he’s bleeding!” His mother screeched in a decibel that made Alfred wince. His father leaned back against the counter and slowly began to sink to the floor, staring at the tiled kitchen floor with glossy eyes. Alfred tried to step around the table to stop his mother, but she skittered back and away from him, holding her phone to her chest as if her life depended on it. “His eyes – his voice – blood, Alfred! And the wall!” She pointed at the wall like it was evidence, and tried to type 9-1-1 into her phone. “Oh my god, oh my god…”

                Not waiting to explain, Alfred plucked the phone from her trembling hands, nearly dropped it due to the blood on his hands, and carelessly threw it against the wall. It shattered instantly, and his father merely winced as the cracked pieces of the phone landed near his feet.

                “No! No calling anybody! They’ll take him away,” Alfred turned to Arthur, taking in his pale face and sunken eyes. He looked like a piece of paper that had been stained by red ink… and the stain was quickly spreading. “Uh… okay. Okay, we can do this.” Alfred said quickly as he pinched the top of his shirt sleeve and gave it a soft pull. The fabric easily ripped, giving Alfred new appreciation for the strength of Spades as he pulled the entire sleeve off of his arm. “Juliana, lift his hands.”

                Juliana complied, though Arthur’s arms gave a noticeable quake as they lifted. Alfred came to him quickly and kneeled, attempting to wrap the length of his cotton sleeve around Arthur’s body. Luckily, Arthur had a thin waist. There was a sickening gag from Arthur’s lips as Alfred pulled the makeshift tourniquet taught, but Alfred swallowed down his fear. There wasn’t time to pause and apologize. Arthur was his top priority. Looking at the fabric that covered the stab wound, Alfred’s heart caved at the sight of blood quickly drenching the white cotton of his old shirt sleeve.

                “Shit,” Alfred grunted breathlessly, taking away the fabric and holding it up. “Take this,” he ordered, watching as Arthur’s hand came down to take the sleeve from him. Pinching his other sleeve at the crease of his elbow, Alfred tore half of his other sleeve, folded it into a thick square, and pressed it over Arthur’s wound. Another discomforting noise came from Arthur, but Alfred didn’t stop working.

“Hold that,” Alfred said strictly as he took the sleeve from Arthur with his spare hand. While Arthur held the patch in place, Alfred wrapped the sleeve around his torso and tied it as tight as he could; his perception of strength was a bit foggy, but it should’ve been good enough. Looking up, Alfred squinted at Arthur’s closed eyes. “Is it too tight?”

“I just might vomit,” Juliana whispered, and Alfred cracked a grin.

“Don’t throw up yet,” Alfred said softly, standing up shakily. “We need to get you back home, to a healer.”

“Ah, yes. Back to the palace that is on fire. Back to the city that is being rampaged.” Juliana said in a bored tone, Arthur’s eyes opened, and though the endless blue didn’t hold any emotion, Alfred could almost feel Juliana’s unimpressed expression rolling through them nonetheless. “A glorious idea, your majesty.”

                Alfred frowned as he stood up straight, dipping his hand down into his vest to retrieve the magic card. His fingers left dark, red prints on the surface, but he didn’t care as he looked at Arthur’s unnaturally blue eyes.

                “Arthur doesn’t need to hide here, and you know it.” One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched, and Alfred glanced back at his parents one last time. His mother was crouching by her husband on the floor, murmuring a repetitious group of unintelligible words while Alfred’s father gave him one last, forlorn look. Turning away from them, Alfred loomed over Arthur with a frown. “I don’t need to hide here, either. He needs to be in Spades. Our people are in danger, and Arthur would never run from that, no matter how hurt he was.”

                “If you go back, you’ll be killed –” Juliana tried to protest as Alfred put the card on the strange doorway Arthur created.

                “Not if Arthur is with me.” Alfred said solidly, breathing in a determined air as the card stuck to the surface of the broken wall. He pushed it inwards easily, holding Arthur to his chest as he did so. “I need him with me, no matter how strong I am.”

                Juliana sighed. “You are a fool.”

                Pushing the door all the way open, Alfred stepped past Arthur and into the bedroom, swallowing nervously as he heard several voices – some of them familiar, many of them new – screaming at each other. He spared his parents one last glance, seeing his mother’s shattered phone and his father’s wide, stormy eyes squinted him misunderstanding. Ducking his head to avoid his mother’s piercing stare, Alfred hooked a hand under Arthur’s arm and pulled him forward, into their bedroom.

                After he propped Arthur up against the nearest wall with a specific instruction to Juliana to keep him standing, Alfred pushed the fake door shut behind them, sealing the path from Spades to his old dimension. Taking a step back, Alfred watched as the broken wall mended itself, filling in every crack and seam until the wall was complete and smooth, just as it always had been. Hopefully it would do the same in his parents’ house.

                Glancing over at Arthur’s pale face, Alfred steeled his determination, and pulled Arthur’s arm around his shoulders. Slowly but surely, they shuffled to the bed, avoiding shards of glass and the spilled lamp oil as they went. Setting Arthur on the bed gently, Alfred laid him back and propped a pillow under Arthur’s legs. Would that be good enough to keep him alive until Alfred could stop whatever was happening in the capital city? Alfred grit his teeth and prayed to Arthur’s gods – if they would listen – for Arthur to stay alive. Spades needed him much, much more than it needed Alfred. He knew this well.

                Picking up the overturned lamp and dousing the flames with a torn, discarded curtain, Alfred set the light next to Arthur’s bed, watching the windows as dark, heavy storm clouds prowled outside. Lighting split the sky in several sections, and Alfred turned away from the windows as he leaned over Arthur’s pale face.

                “Hold on,” Alfred murmured softly as he pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. When Arthur’s eyes opened, Alfred was almost sad to see his normal, green eyes filling with tears. Juliana must have run out of time with her brother. Now it was Arthur’s turn to shoulder the pain on his own. Arthur’s hands scrabbled at the blankets, and his lips parted around a desperate, pained sob. Alfred pushed the hair from Arthur’s eyes, only to wipe blood across Arthur’s pale skin. Scowling, Alfred kissed Arthur’s forehead once more. “Just hold on. I’ll be right back.”

                Jogging across the room, Alfred pulled the decorative sword that hung over their small, shared desk. It wasn’t sharpened, but Alfred reasoned that the strength of Spades would make up for it. There was screaming from outside the room, but when Alfred peeked out the door, he saw the hallway was empty. Turning the lock on the door so it would be locked when he closed it, Alfred looked back at Arthur once more.

                His eyes were scrunched tight as tears rolled back into his hair, and his hands gripped the blankets tight enough that Alfred was sure they would tear. Holding the silver, gem decorated hilt of his sword tight with trembling hands, Alfred winced when he heard a child’s scream cut brutally short. It almost sounded familiar… Fredrick? Alfred shook his head; it didn’t matter who it was. He had to stop the attack. If he could rally the soldiers, then maybe…

                “Hide here,” Alfred said to Arthur lowly, hoping that Samuel’s soldiers wouldn’t hear him from the hallway. Arthur turned to look at him with wide eyes, and Alfred held the sword up in evidence. “I’ll be right back.”

                “Alfred,” Arthur breathed, shifting on the bed only an inch before he gave a loud howl of pain. Alfred ran to him quickly, dropping the sword next to the bed and running his hands over Arthur’s face, struggling to console him. Arthur looked up at him desperately. “Stay with me, please, _please_ , stay with me.” Alfred shook his head, and Arthur let out a distraught sob. “No, you mustn’t leave me! Not now, not like this… I can’t die without you here. I need _you_ to be the last thing I see before the gods spirit me away!”

                Alfred kissed Arthur quickly, trying to muffle his much too loud cries. “Shush! Arthur, you gotta be quiet,” he brushed the tears from Arthur’s cheeks, smearing blood in place of the tears. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart.”

                “Don’t,” Arthur begged, closing his eyes and gasping for breath. “Don’t let me die alone, Alfred… I need you with me. You _must_ be with me.”

                “Arthur, someone’s gonna find you if you’re too loud...” Alfred tried to warn him, but Arthur merely continued to cry.

                “Please don’t let me die alone, here.” He gasped between sad, broken sobs. “I want you to be with me, Alfred. I want my last breath to be shared with you…”

                “You’re not gonna die, Arthur. I’m not gonna let that happen.” Alfred whispered quickly, hearing a strangled cry from the hallway turn into a gargling cough before it was quieted. Alfred swallowed; the attacks were getting closer. They must’ve heard Arthur scream. Alfred pressed one last kiss to Arthur’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

                “Alfred,” Arthur said breathlessly, eyes wide and hands reaching for him, “Alfred…!”

                Alfred took the sword up from the ground and walked to the door, looking back at Arthur only when he stood in the doorway. “I’ll be right back.” Arthur gave one last, desperate cry, and Alfred shut the door, hearing the lock _click_ behind him.

                Looking down the hallway, Alfred saw several bodies lying across the floor. Two children and a soldier. Rather than fear, Alfred felt a burning kind of rage grow up under his lungs; why did they have to kill children? Killing one person was enough, but a _child?_ Who had a soul dark enough and a heart empty enough to harm a helpless child? Alfred’s hands stopped shaking as he stepped forward, burning with anger and determination.

                When he saw a soldier walk around the corner, he hesitated, only to see their emblem was not of Spades. It wasn’t the emblem of any ally Spades had; it was one of Samuel’s soldiers. That was good, Alfred reasoned as he lifted his sword and charged at the enemy soldier blindly. The soldier was young, and his hands shook as he tried to lift his own sword in defense, but Alfred was too strong. The soldier’s sword went flying from his hands, and Alfred spared him one sharp look as he pushed his dull sword through the man’s chest.

                One down, countless to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yes, welcome to hell, everyone. Can I take your order?_
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> That is how you make yourself sad while writing, everyone.  
> \- See you next chapter!


	24. Dejudico

                When Alfred was seven years old, he was introduced to the somewhat jarring world of violence. The moment was miniscule in his life, but it set the tone for several mind-rattling experiences in the future. It made Alfred’s eyes open wide to the world that he thought was completely safe; he never expected anyone to be in pain. Not one single person.

                He’d been shopping with his mother in the grocery store. To that day, Alfred could still remember it was a Thursday. Around a tall, grey aisle, a woman was screaming at her child. Alfred could still see the shine of a little girl’s flaxen hair as she shook her head, and the glisten of her mother’s fiery fingernails. If Alfred had turned away for just a second, he would’ve missed it – the split-second movement, the frightening reaction – the woman slapped her daughter across the face.

                No matter how many years passed him by, and no matter how many violent things he saw pass in front of his eyes, he could still vividly remember how the little girl, no older than four, fell back against the cold, metal shelves. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the woman’s crocheted sweater catching on her watch. He could still vividly see how the mother looked away from her daughter to inspect her watch; the little girl fell to the floor, and started to cry. The mother didn’t look away from her wrist, even as a can of soup fell on top of her daughter.

                As a child, Alfred had been terrified. He was sure that when he was older, he’d never make anyone cry like that little girl had. He was so sure that he couldn’t be capable such a thing. He wouldn’t turn away from someone when they were crying in pain. He _couldn’t._

                And yet, as Alfred stormed through the palace with a dull sword in his hand, he knew that he was letting himself down. If his younger self could see himself now, Alfred was sure that he would be distraught, at the very least. He’d left Arthur in pain, and walked away. Did it count as cruelty when he was trying to save Arthur from more danger? Alfred couldn’t quite tell.

                Taking deep breaths one after another, Alfred slowly traveled throughout the halls of the palace in pursuit of the entrance, pausing only when one of Samuel’s soldiers crossed his path. To Alfred’s surprise, every soldier was young; the vast majority of them couldn’t have been older than twenty-three. Had Samuel raked his hands through the outlands in search of the most vulnerable, impressionable warriors he could find? From the looks of their weak sword techniques and sloppy footwork, Alfred assumed Samuel had simply stolen as many able-bodied soldiers as he could, rather than experienced and talented fighters. Not that it mattered to Alfred; it merely made his job easier.

                One by one, Alfred would swing his sword, and they would fall. Without thought or hesitation, he would draw his arm back and give a ruthless grunt as he brought the sword down upon his enemy. What would his younger self think of him? Surely, he would think that he’d grown up to be a monster. A _murderer_. When Alfred pulled his sword away from the neck of a man that couldn’t be any older than himself, he looked at the blood that had splattered onto his hands and arms. Alfred sighed; he _was_ a murderer.

                Lifting his eyes from the carnage at his feet, Alfred’s senses kicked into high-alert. There was a sound just around the nearest corner, waiting for him. It was hidden beneath the almost deafening ring of swordfight and screaming in the capital city, but Alfred could hear it. A low, insistent scratching, like a mouse trying to scamper across the floors undetected. Alfred gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, lifting the blade so that it caught in the flickering glint of lightning that streaked across the sky.

He wasn’t afraid of a coward that hid behind corners. He wasn’t afraid of anything, anymore. There was something burning deep in his chest that fought the feeling of fear and replaced it with frustration and anger. He couldn’t tell if it was magic or simply adrenaline that kept him from collapsing into a trembling mess, but as he slowly stepped towards the corner where his next assailant waited for him, he couldn’t care less.

When a crash of thunder split the sky, Alfred shot around the corner and lifted his sword, bringing it down just in time to hear the frightened, high-pitched scream of a child. A bolt ran through Alfred’s body, and for the first time since he’d walked back into Spades, the electric current of panic trickled over his body. There, beneath the blade the he’d barely managed to stop, was a child, cowering on the floor with their face hidden in their hands.

Alfred blinked at the mop of sandy, brown hair, and the simple clothing that the boy wore. There was dirt smeared into his hair, and blood dappled his left shirt sleeve, but Alfred knew that this boy was no stranger. As he moved his sword aside, Alfred let out a breath of relief.

“Fredrick,” he sighed, feeling his steel grip on his sword loosen just a bit when Fredrick looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Fredrick, what are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“Your Highness,” Fredrick said with a trembling voice as he shakily rose to his feet. “Your H-Highness…” Alfred opened his arms, and Fredrick flung himself forward, burying his face in Alfred’s chest and clinging to his shirt desperately. “I can’t find… I can’t find Cherche! T-they came like the wind, Your Majesty! Fell from the sky and took everyone with them,” Fredrick took a heaving breath, and Alfred pat his back uselessly. How did he console a child that was experiencing the shock of war? Fredrick sat back, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then pushed his face back into Alfred’s chest. “They came through the windows… t-the town is on fire!”

“I know,” Alfred said softly, trying to soothe Fredrick while he looked back and forth between the hallways; if they were too loud, soldiers would hear them and no doubt come looking. “Freddy, I know that things are really scary, but you gotta be brave.” Alfred looked back down at Fredrick’s trembling frame, and gave his sandy hair a soft pat. “You’ve got to be brave. I’m going to get you out of this. You’re going to be okay.”

Fredrick gave a shaky nod, assuring Alfred that he would be brave, but winced when thunder cracked through the sky like a whip. When Fredrick gave a fretful whimper, Alfred held him closer, petting his tangled, ratty hair roughly in an attempt to calm him.

“You’re okay,” Alfred muttered grimly, searching the overturned hallway for a safe place for Fredrick to hide. There were no rooms along this hall, though there were plenty of crooked paintings along the walls that depicted dusty, disapproving former rulers of Spades. Just in the distance, Alfred could see a painting with Arthur in it sitting on the floor, torn and discarded. Alfred frowned. “You’re okay, Freddy. You’re okay.”

“I-I’m not scared,” Fredrick told himself as lightning flickered through the hallways. Not too far away, a woman shrieked at the top of her lungs, and Fredrick clung to Alfred tight enough that Alfred squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not scared!”

Taking a quick breath, Alfred pried Fredrick’s arms from his torso and knelt down to look the boy in the eye. He could see the fear that lingered in Fredrick’s gray irises, but there was a strong glimmer of determination that burned in the recesses of his pupils. A determination to stay alive, if nothing else. Holding a finger to his lips, Alfred smiled a Fredrick.

                “That’s good,” he whispered, “It’s good you’re not scared. I know you can be brave. You’ve just gotta be quiet, or they’ll hear you.”

                Swallowing nervously, Fredrick glanced around the hall, spotting one of the guards that Alfred had cut down. Running to the fallen man quickly, Fredrick pulled a dagger from the soldier’s belt and held it in front of him at the ready, as if someone was going to lunge at him at any moment. Alfred gave Fredrick a sad smile; when had he been desensitized to death? When did he become strong enough to hold the dagger in front of himself with surefire determination? Alfred blinked; Fredrick’s childhood was quickly falling away. At the moment, Fredrick had no choice but to grow up and be strong. But, when the war was over and the threat was gone, would he be able to regain his innocence?

                Alfred heaved a tired sigh as he looked down at his hands that were covered in blood. No, there was no chance to earn back innocence. Once it was gone, it would never return. Standing up quickly, Alfred took the dagger from Fredrick’s hands.

                “You don’t need that,” he said solidly. If anything, Fredrick needed to keep his ever-optimistic view of the world. He needed to stay a child while he had the chance.

                But Fredrick didn’t agree. “I can help you!” He argued fervently, reaching up for the dagger when Alfred held it above his head. “I want to help! I need to fight for my kingdom!”

                Holding back a frustrated, bubbling bunch of tears, Alfred shook his head. “How about I do the fighting? You don’t need to fight.” He gave Fredrick’s gray eyes a sympathetic glance before he tucked the dagger into the side of his belt. When Fredrick pursed his lips and frowned, Alfred gave his shoulder a fond pat. “At least, you don’t need to fight just yet. Maybe when you’re older.”

                Fredrick took a step forward. “But –”

                “No buts, kiddo. Besides,” Alfred took the back of Fredrick’s shirt and toted him away from the main corridor, pulling Fredrick down the hallway he’d been traveling earlier. “I’ve got a job for you.” Alfred pointed in the direction of his and Arthur’s bedroom. “Arthur is in our bedroom right now, and he’d pretty beaten up,” Fredrick’s eyes went wide, and Alfred was quick to finish. “I need you to keep an eye on him while I clean up this whole thing. If I can rally the soldiers and just get rid of Samuel, then…” Alfred trailed off with a hum, eyeing Fredrick’s confused stare. “Anyway, I just need you to watch that room and make sure Arthur doesn’t try to leave. If he does, he probably won’t make it through this little battle.”

                Fredrick stared down the corridor with an owlish gaze. “You… you mean the Queen… he’ll die?”

                “Yeah. And we don’t want that to happen, do we?” Fredrick shook his head wildly, and Alfred smiled down at him. “Good. Then keep an eye on him.” Alfred casted a wary glance over his shoulder, then looked back at Fredrick. “If any of Samuel’s soldiers come your way, I want you to run as fast as you can. Find some place to hide, and stay there. Don’t try to fight them, no matter what.”

                “But what if –”

                Alfred held up his hand. “No, Fredrick. For once, take my word as an order. I’m telling you to run away if you see a soldier come towards you. I don’t want you killed. Do you understand?” Fredrick hesitated, and Alfred loomed over him with a frown. “Fredrick, _do you understand_?”

                “Yes, Your Majesty.”

                “Good,” Alfred nodded, shooing Fredrick away with a wave of his hand. “Now hop to it. That room ain’t gonna watch itself.”

                  After Fredrick reluctantly stumbled away, Alfred held his sword with a new air of determination. He’d been so focused on cutting down any soldier that came across his path, he’d forgotten why he was fighting. There was no room for error, and certainly no time to forget the reason he held a sword in the first place. He had to fight for his people and for Arthur… and the land that he called home. Spades was in danger, and he didn’t want to be the reason that several people died.

                Walking through the palace alone with nothing but a sword to protect him gave Alfred’s stomach awkward cramps. He knew that he had to live; Arthur wasn’t strong enough to protect the people of the capital, and there weren’t enough guards in the city to take down an entire army, no matter how inexperienced the enemy was. It was Alfred’s turn to be strong, and as he walked through the great front door of the palace, toward the broken and dented gates, he held his sword at his side tightly.

Shattered lights ricocheted off of the smooth, endless cobblestone ground of the capital city as Alfred stood just inside the gates. His hands were shaking and his heart pounded, but it wasn't out of fear. There was something burning deep in Alfred's heart, the same burn that made his throat ache and his head swim; anger in its highest form.

There, amid the sad, lingering swarms of people in the capital, stood a man covered in armor with only his head exposed. The metallic protection was tinted a dark, rusting color, and Alfred wondered if it was tinted with blood. With the crowds of captive citizens muddle on the ground around him – some of them were unharmed, most of them were bleeding – Alfred mused it really _was_ bathed in blood. The man in the armor was easily in his thirties, and he stood with his sword braced in front of him, the tip digging into the carved stones of the ground.

Alfred didn't need to look very hard to know this man Samuel; he had the same dark, spiteful eyes as his great uncle, and the frames of their faces were nearly identical. Samuel even groomed his beard the same way, and his curly, dark hair was pulled back into a knotted twist.

Alfred felt his stomach give an awkward flop; his whole body knew that Samuel was a threat, but there was a thrumming energy in his muscles that screamed for vengeance. There was something nestled keep in Alfred soul that demanded retribution for Spades, and as Alfred took strong, careful strides toward Samuel, he knew that it was magic that called him forward. As Samuel turned to him with a disdainful, pitiful expression on bus face, Alfred knew it was fate that he would raise his sword against Samuel and his army. Even if he was alone and his Queen was lying in bed, wracked with pain, he had the power of fate on his side. Arthur's gods wouldn't have made Alfred the King just so he would die at the hands of an impostor... Would they? No, Alfred assured himself as he held his sword at the ready, Arthur put too much faith in his gods for them to be sadists.

“What is this?” Samuel grunted with a deep, baritone rumble of a voice. Alfred’s hands trembled at the sound, but the fire in his soul never wavered. He held his sword at the ready as Samuel continued to speak. “Is this all Spades has to offer? One puny, pathetic soldier with no armor or shield?”

The people that sat on the ground at Samuel’s feet looked up at Alfred expectantly; he was their only hope. If the people of Spades – now hostages at the hands of Samuel – wanted to survive, Alfred had to make his movements carefully. With one long look at Samuel, Alfred could see that he had plenty of defensive power on his side, but with the loose way he held his sword, he had little faith in his blade. Alfred almost smirked; he would use that to his advantage.

“I am Alfred Fitzgerald Jones,” Alfred said boldly, lifting his chin as the people of Spades started up a flow of impressed, excited murmurs. “And I am the King of Spades.”

Samuel snorted and waved a hand at the people near his feet. Soldiers appear from seemingly nowhere, barking commands at the people until they had moved away from Samuel and toward the gates. There, people were pressed back against the gates until Samuel stood in the main square alone. Lifting his sword with his right hand and waving his guards away with his left hand, Samuel grinned at Alfred.

“You? King of Spades? Now that _is_ pathetic,” Samuel said with a wobbly shake of his sword. Alfred watched the movement carefully; he held the sword like he knew what to do with it, but it was all a farce. Samuel didn’t know how to properly fight. When he spoke again, Alfred lifted his eyes back to Samuel’s’ face. “Oh, mighty King… have you come to defeat me?”

Not letting Alfred answer, Samuel threw his head back and laughed loudly, stretching out his arms to gesture wildly at the capital. “Look around you, King! See your capital in ruins!” He pointed to the palace, “Your palace in shambles!” He laughed as he waved at the people lined along the gates. “Your people are weak, and so are your soldiers!” Finally, Samuel pointed one, angry finger at Alfred and narrowed his eyes. “And your Queen is nowhere to be found. It seems that the little coward has finally died.” Alfred’s eyes went wide, and Samuel smiled. “ _Good riddance_.”

A roll of thunder made the sky rattle and the ground tremble as Alfred stomped his foot. How _dare_ he speak about Arthur that way? Arthur was no coward. The only reason Arthur had left Spades was because of Juliana, if she hadn’t taken him away, Arthur would have been fighting on the front lines alongside his soldiers regardless of his injury. When Alfred slashed his sword through the air, lightning cracked the sky in half like a whip.

“You will not speak about my Queen that way!” Alfred howled, stomping his foot again. The people lined along the gates started to murmur again, more excited than before as Alfred took a few quick, pointed steps forward. “You don’t even know who he is; you have no right to talk about him.”

When Samuel’s soldiers made a move to step forward and take care of Alfred, Samuel held up a hand to stop them. Alfred narrowed his eyes as his face felt heavy with a frown; he didn’t want to fight the young, inexperienced soldiers anyway. He wanted to deal with Samuel alone, with no one interrupting. That way, he’d have all satisfaction of gaining retribution for himself.

Alfred blinked; when had he started to think that way? When had he stopped thinking about the peaceful elements in Spades and the soft, molten moments when he was alone with Arthur? Samuel had broken the tender balance between ‘happy’ and ‘peaceful’ in Spades, leaving Alfred to reel in the repercussions that rattled the structure of reality in Spades. Things were rapidly changing in Spades, and Alfred was more than happy to bear the brunt of the effects as he stood before Samuel with a scowl that made the sky darken.

                Samuel rolled his eyes as if Alfred was a petulant child that didn’t want to go to bed on time. His armor creaked and chainmail clinked as he took a few steps towards Alfred with his sword at the ready. Alfred walked forward, too. He was ready to take out the effervescing anger that boiled in his blood; it stung at his eyes and made his muscles ache. His people were hurt… his husband was hurt. What was it all for? The vendetta of a man who had broken the law one hundred years ago?

Alfred listened to the sound of thunder rumbling overhead as he frowned harder; Samuel’s campaign was all for nothing. Like trying to pick up a handful of sunshine, or capturing the sound of laughter in a bottle… it was impossible to avenge the honor of Donovan. He’d never had any honor.

“You impudent pup,” Samuel grunted with an unimpressed roll of his eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that _you_ are the rightful King?”

Alfred stood ten feet away from Samuel with his sword held evenly in both hands. Samuel leaned heavily on his right foot – perhaps there was an old injury or weakness Alfred could exploit on his left side. As Alfred continued to monitor Samuel’s poor fighting stance – sword held in one hand, feet not far enough apart – Samuel snorted and shook his head again.

“My great uncle was the King, once. The Queen drove him mad.” Alfred narrowed his eyes; that wasn’t true. Donovan was driven insane by the magic of Spades. He wasn’t meant to possess the crown, and his negative presence in the palace had caused the backlash of magic. Samuel didn’t know that? With a nonchalant twist of his sword blade, Samuel nodded to himself. “Yes… that _wench_ of a man was the reason for his downfall. And, as his last surviving relative, Iam heir to the throne.”

Alfred held his sword tighter as Samuel finally started to take him seriously. He held his sword higher, and Alfred fought back a flinch as their blades scraped against one another slowly.

“You think you should be King?” Alfred spat bitterly; his glasses were slipping down on his nose, and there was a spot of blood on the right lens, but he didn’t fix them.

He didn’t even look away from Sameul when heavy raindrops started to fall from the dark clouds. Samuel nodded officially, taking a sharp step forward – on his right foot – and jabbing at Alfred. Alfred sidestepped easily and pushed the end of Samuel’s sword into the dirt. It wasn’t difficult in the least. His newfound strength made the altercation with Samuel almost… _boring_.

Alfred sighed a little as Samuel took a flabbergasted step back; his eyes were wide with surprise, and he immediately launched himself forward again, messily stabbing in Alfred’s direction. With a single, strong step back, Alfred swung his sword to the right in a large arc, sweeping Samuel’s sword away and into the ground.

“You aren’t the King,” Alfred said evenly as Samuel snarled and gave another wild slash at him. Alfred took two steps to the right, letting Samuel stumble past him like a charging bull. Rain made his white shirt feel heavy, but it didn’t hinder his movement as he looked at Samuel through troubled eyes. “You aren’t anything close to a King.”

“Quiet!” Samuel barked as he stumbled forward in the armor that was obviously obstructing his reach and movement. When he raised his sword high in the air – making a big show of bringing the blade down on Alfred’s head – Alfred held his sword above his head with the blade parallel to his shoulders. Even though the action was pointless, Samuel still swung down his sword, reeling back when Alfred deflected the movement.

“Look around you, Samuel,” Alfred ordered stiffly as he held his sword in one hand and gestured to the capital in the other. First he pointed to the palace. “My palace is not my entire Kingdom. It can be rebuilt one thousand times over, and it won’t mean you’ve defeated us.” Next, he pointed at Samuel’s soldiers. “ _Your_ soldiers are young and terrified.” Finally, he pointed at the quiet people lined along the palace gates. “And my people are not _weak_. They’re alive, and that’s all they need. They don’t need extravagant deeds or badges to show their worth.” Samuel opened his mouth to disagree, but Alfred slashed his sword through the open air, flinging raindrops across the cobblestone ground. “They are strong! Their strength is my strength! Without them, I would be the King of an empty kingdom.”

Alfred watched Samuel’s jaw work furiously. It looked like he was trying to find any sort of loophole in the conversation. But, there was no trapdoor for him to escape through, and his young soldiers stood by anxiously. They obviously weren’t thrilled to see their leader showing weakness. He would be sure to offer them mercy when all was said and done. Before he could do that, he had to deal with Samuel.

When Alfred looked back at Samuel, he expected to see the face of defeat, but he was met with a twisted, sickening grin. The grin wasn’t aimed at Alfred himself, but in the direction of the palace gates. Looking over his shoulder quickly, Alfred felt his heart drop down into his stomach.

It was Arthur. Standing just outside the palace gates amid the captive people of the capital, he looked like a ghost that was just barely able to keep ahold of their physical body. Not even sparing Samuel a parting glance, Alfred ran to Arthur, desperately trying to wave him away.

“No! No, Arthur you can’t be out here… you were supposed to… I told Fredrick,” Alfred blinked. Had something happened to Fredrick? Was Arthur attacked again and Fredrick had run for cover? Or had Fredrick not even been allowed the opportunity to run? Alfred tried not to let himself think about it as he eyed the makeshift bandage he’d put around Arthur’s torso; it was soaked with blood, and the entire left side of Arthur’s clothing was dripping with it. Dropping his sword, Alfred cupped Arthur’s face and rubbed away the spots of death that stained his cheeks. “Arthur, y-you _can’t_. You’re gonna bleed to death, I… I can handle this, I –”

“I can’t,” Arthur breathed softly, blinking raindrops from his eyelashes as he stared up at Alfred with dim and foggy green eyes. “I can’t die like this. I promised,” his eyes closed for a moment, and Alfred could tell it was a challenge to pry them back open. When Arthur finally did manage to open his eyes, they were stained blue with magic, and they gave off their ethereal glow as Arthur smiled shakily. “I promised you that I would use my last breath to protect you.”

Alfred’s eyes widened; it wasn’t Juliana speaking for him, so how did Arthur have the strength to conjure magic? He didn’t get a chance to ask as he heard the metallic _clang_ of steel hitting stone behind him. Looking back, Alfred saw Samuel staring at him in complete horror.

There, in front of the people pressed to the gates, was a thin, translucent wall of transparent blue marking a border that divided the people of Spades from Samuel and his men. Giving Samuel a quick glance, Alfred noted that he had tried to sneak up behind Alfred while he was talking to Arthur. When he got too close for Arthur’s comfort, Arthur must have brought up the wall of magic to deter Samuel from harming Alfred or the citizens.

                While Samuel slammed his fists against the barrier in frustration, Alfred turned away to look at Arthur.

                “Arthur, I know you want to help, but you’ve done enough,” Alfred said softly, brushing his thumbs just under Arthur’s eyes. The drops that rolled down his cheeks… were they tears? Or was it simply the rain? Arthur blinked slowly, not losing his fragile smile as Alfred spoke again. “You need to sit down… lay down, _please._ Let someone take care of you.”

                As Alfred waved for someone, _anyone_ , to come help the Queen of Spades, Arthur took a deep, shaking breath, and proceeded to whisper, “I haven’t done enough, Alfred. Nothing will ever be enough. I need to make up for my mistakes of the past,” Alfred squinted when Samuel slammed his sword against the barrier with a sick, metallic ringing sound. Arthur flinched at the sound as if he was the one being hit by the sword, but it was only for a moment before he focused on Samuel with a penetrating, luminescent glare. “And I will not leave my people unguarded. Not when Samuel is still standing.”

                Alfred gave a frustrated sigh; it was no use. Arthur was stubborn as a bull when it came to the safety of his people, and Alfred knew that he couldn’t stop a bull with trembling hands or soft words. Giving Arthur’s shoulders a final squeeze, Alfred bent down and picked up his discarded sword. If Arthur was going to fight the pull of death, then the least he could do was fight Samuel.

                “Your Highness?” Alfred glanced to his left to see Cherche curled in Annie’s arms, looking up at him with burning, desperate eyes. Alfred smiled down at her before he turned to Samuel and his men, raising his sword and pointing it in the direction of Samuel’s heart.

                “I’ll give you one chance to surrender, Samuel,” Alfred said gravely, watching as Samuel’s dark eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a dark scowl. “You can surrender, or I can kill you right now.”

                While Samuel ground his teeth angrily, each and every one of his soldiers took a few frightened, shaking steps back from the barrier. Alfred could see the fear that glittered in their eyes. How many of them left their families behind to follow Samuel? How many were faced with death and threatened pains worse than torture when they tried to run? These soldiers were not men; they were children forced into armor and given flimsy blades that served as swords.

Alfred scanned the lines of trembling soldiers, not finding a single woman amidst their ranks. There were several woman warriors in the Spades military, though most of them were sent to the borders to help teach new strategies. It went to show how Samuel was stuck in a mindset that was reserved for fools; there was no equality in his “army,” let alone experience.

When Samuel finally spoke, he leaned forward against the magic barrier, gritted his teeth, and spat, “I will never surrender to an _imposter_.”

Imposter? Alfred blinked at the accusation before his eyes went wide. Samuel was talking to him, calling Alfred, the rightful King of Spades, an imposter. Not hesitating, Alfred ran at Samuel with all he had, drawing back his arm and lunging forward, through the barrier. He wasn’t stopped by the barrier, in fact, he hardly felt anything as he ran through the wall of blue light and toward Samuel.

When he swung at Samuel he missed, and the blade sang as it cut through the rain-filled air. Alfred felt something in his shoulder twist and pull painfully as he swung his sword at Samuel again, but he didn’t let it stop him. Samuel was jumping back and dodging his swings; he knew that if Alfred could hit him, he’d be dead within a minute. Even though Alfred knew he was going to miss, it still felt good to jab and swing wildly in Samuel’s direction, watching with a glare as Samuel tripped backward and stumbled away with only milliseconds to spare.

Samuel’s soldiers – dressed in the same sad, rusting color as their leader – stood by uselessly, cowering at the sight of Alfred’s rampage. None of them made a move to break the barrier that Arthur created, nor did they try to help Samuel as he narrowly escaped Alfred’s attacks. Samuel had yet to launch a counterattack, and Alfred was constant making sure he was never given the change to try.

Taking even steps forward, Alfred marched Samuel backwards, farther form the barrier with each haphazard swing of his sword. Rain blurred the lenses of his glasses, and Alfred resorted to ducking his chin and glaring over the rim of his glasses at Samuel. He could no longer see the horrified expression on Samuel’s face, but Alfred could easily see where to swing his sword next.

“What are you doing?” Samuel cried at his soldiers, jumping back when Alfred gave another angry swing at him. Alfred’s sword went past Samuel and down into the ground, cracking one of the large stones that paved the ground in half. Samuel desperately tried to use his own sword to push Alfred’s away, but Alfred was too strong. After a brief struggle, Samuel’s sword was tossed away, and the scoundrel was stumbling away from Alfred again. “Attack him! Kill him!”

Pausing his lashes at Samuel for a minute, Alfred looked over his shoulder and saw all of Samuel’s soldiers running at him at top speed. Several of them looked terrified, but Alfred knew that he was the only one who should’ve been scared; there were too many to fight off all at once. Every soldier had a sword, and every blade was aimed at Alfred. Even if he killed Samuel _now,_ he would still be slaughtered by the many frightened soldiers that were charging at him.

Gritting his teeth, Alfred turned his back to Samuel tried to make a mad dash for the barrier; if he could hide with Arthur for a moment and think, he could find a way to make it out of the battle alive. Though he managed to knock away the swords of two unbalanced boys, Alfred was quickly running out of palaces to run and places to dodge. There was a solid wall of people running at him, and even if he tried to fake going one way, there were people he’d already passed that would simply turn around and cut him down.

Just as Alfred saw a semi-clear path to Arthur, Alfred’s legs went numb. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his brain that stopped him from running any further. He tried to see Arthur’s expression, but his husband was too far; he only heard Arthur give a horrified scream. Several of the people lined along the gates stood and ran toward the Queen; were they holding him up? Were they consoling him? Why had they waited to help Arthur?

Feeling his stance waver, Alfred gasped as pain began to register in his brain. There were flags waving in the central nervous system, desperately trying to tell Alfred he was hurt, but the feelings never seemed to reach his nerves. Alfred staggered forward one more step, then looked down to see the tip of a sword protruding from his chest. The soldiers around him has stopped charging, and now they simply watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Alfred huffed as he shakily stumbled away from the sword, hearing the sickening sound of tearing flesh as whoever stabbed him pulled the blade away. His entire body screamed for respite, but something in his brain kept whispering that he could still run, and he could still be safe within Arthur’s barrier.

The only sound in the plaza was the endless patter of rain on the ground as Alfred looked back up to Arthur. He could feel his heart racing, and adrenaline still poisoned his blood, but there was a definite restriction of airflow to his lungs. Alfred took another desperate, wobbling step, and the soldiers around him stepped back fearfully, creating a straight path to Arthur and the barrier. Alfred could see Arthur reaching for him, and he was sure people were shouting his name, but he couldn’t _hear_ it. In fact, Alfred was sure that his senses and merely dulled down to one or two sensations. He could hear the rain, and he could register the feeling of the earth beneath his feet, but everything else was blank.

When someone – Arthur? Juliana? – called his name once more, it sounded like Alfred had been submerged in the ocean. They were far away, and he couldn’t reach them, not even if he took one more step. The edge of Alfred’s boot caught on a sideways stone, and he collapsed easily, hearing the _crack_ of his skull against the pavement. Was he bleeding? He probably was. Did it hurt? Most likely. Though they were legitimate and important questions, he didn’t want to see the blood or feel the pain. More than anything, Alfred just wanted to have Arthur comfort him.

Tilting his head to look at Arthur, Alfred blinked at the cracks in his glasses. They didn’t matter, now. He wouldn’t need them very much longer. Blinking the rain from his eyes, Alfred felt his lips part around the sound of Arthur’s name; Arthur was there, just behind the barrier, attempting to crawl across the ground to Alfred. The people of Spades were quick to hold Arthur back and press him to the ground, not even releasing him when Arthur gave a pained scream for Alfred.

Alfred blinked slowly. His heart wasn’t pounding anymore; did that mean he was giving up? Was there no energy left to keep it racing? With a sad huff, Alfred closed his eyes. This wasn’t what he imagined death to be. He’d heard so many stories about the pain and read so many articles on death… he never thought he’d be experiencing it so soon. As Alfred lay prostrate on the ground, he gave a feeble sob; Arthur was right.

Arthur _knew_ that he didn’t want to die without seeing Alfred. Arthur was _terrified_ of dying without Alfred by his side. But Alfred had left him without a second thought. Now, as Alfred tried to lift his hand from the wet, stone ground to reach for Arthur, he knew why Arthur was scared. Death was a lonely thing. A dark thing. He wanted Arthur to be with him, to chase away the frightening reality of death and embrace him with the warmth of company. He wanted Arthur to smile down at him, regardless of tears, and illuminate his life one last time.

Forcing his eyes open, Alfred desperately coughed Arthur’s name, feeling himself choke a bit on spit. Though when the ground in front of him was sprayed red, he realized it was blood that he choked on. Swallowing down another hot mouthful of tacky liquid, Alfred reached across the stone ground for Arthur.

“Arthur,” he wheezed, hearing his own voice echo eerily in his head as every other sound faded away to the dull, heavy sound of his heartbeat. He could barely see the outline of Arthur’s golden hair, dampened by the rain, and he watched blurrily as people loomed over him, waving frantically and shouting something to one another. Alfred idly wondered what they were saying, but instead focused on his husband. “Arthur… Arthur…!”

Pushing his screaming muscles to the limit one more time, Alfred clawed at the ground, trying to pull himself forward to no avail. Who had he thought he was? A hero? He wasn’t a hero… he was just one man trying to fill shoes that were much too big for him. He was a fool for thinking he could have saved Arthur and everyone in Spades. He was a fool the very minute he decided to leave Arthur behind. He was a fool when he picked up his sword, and was a fool when he tried to face Samuel with no one to help him.

Coughing again, Alfred closed his eyes when a scratchy, itchy feeling slid along the walls of his throat. Blood splattered across the ground again, getting watered down by the constant fall of rain. Alfred moaned sadly; he couldn’t even see Arthur. Alfred’s eyes were crawling with dark clouds that slowly but surely surged inward, blotting out the rest of his vision. He wanted to see Arthur… just one more time. One more time, and he would’ve been content. But Arthur was too far away, and Arthur was out of time as well… in a way, it was almost poetic.

Closing his eyes, Alfred let himself fade away into nothingness. He was crumbling beneath the weight of life itself, and as he let out one last, sad breath, he almost imagined the sound of Arthur calling his name. So peacefully, so kindly… only Arthur had a voice so soft. Alfred wanted to hear it, but there was no time left. If there was an afterlife, then he would be able to find Arthur again.

“Is that it?” A woman’s voice asked pointedly. “You’re giving up?”

He had to; Alfred was surely dead by now. There was no other way Alfred could possibly –

“Poppycock! And you _know_ it,” Alfred pried open his eyes to see Juliana standing over him with a cross expression. In the rain, she had an otherworldly glow about her, as if she was illuminated from the very core of her body. Her pale green ball gown brushed across the wet ground as she shifted her skirts and smoothed out the wrinkles. “No King of mine shall give up on life so easily.”

“Excuse you,” Alfred breathed easily, shifting on the ground so he could lay comfortably. “I’m trying to die, here.”

“What will that accomplish?” Juliana asked incredulously, raising her arms in the most elegant shrug Alfred had ever seen.

“If I die, I can be with Arthur.” He answered simply, closing his eyes as Juliana knelt down beside him. “If he’s gone, then I don’t want to stay.”

Juliana sighed, passing her hand through Alfred’s hair slowly. “Who said that Arthur is dead? He still lives, dear King! And so shall you.”

“I don’t want to,” Alfred whispered as Juliana stroked his hair. “Nothing hurts, now. It’s not hard to breath, and I’m not coughing blood… why would I go back and put myself through that?”

Juliana tapped the top of Alfred’s head lightly, as if to reprimand him. “You ignorant man… Life is filled with pain, it’s true; but, without the pain, how could we measure bliss?” Alfred’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and Juliana spoke again. “I know that the numbness that accompanies death can be peaceful, but if you die today, you won’t be able to experience any another happy moments with Arthur… or others.” Juliana paused, and Alfred opened his eyes to stare at the fabric of her skirts. “So many people love you, my dearest King… it would be a shame to leave them so early.”

“But…” Alfred breathed slowly. “How can I fix everything? How can I save everyone in Spades when I can’t even save myself?”

“Stand up.”

Alfred closed his eyes and sighed. “I can’t. If I’m seeing you, I’m already dead.”

Juliana didn’t take that as an answer, and instead knotted her fingers in Alfred’s hair. “Stand up!”

“I can’t!” Alfred shouted in return, curling his hands into fists and gasping when Juliana finally released his hair. “I can’t stand up anymore! I can’t do anything!”

“Yes, you can! Of course you can!” Juliana pressed, brushing the hair from Alfred’s eyes and waiting for him to look up at her hopelessly. “You can stand up, my King. You were _born_ to lead this people… born to save them! Now, on your feet, King of Spades.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Alfred repeated. How could he stand up when he was already dead? How could he possibly move beyond the boundaries of death and reach back into the land of the living? He was dead… wasn’t he? Shaking his head, Alfred closed his eyes tight. “I just can’t.”

“Where is the man that saved my brother from the brink of death by erodention?” Juliana demanded, as if Alfred had gone missing. “Where is the man that snubbed the King of Diamonds while gaining the trust of the Card Kingdoms?”

Alfred huffed. “He’s dead.”

“Only because he is _surrendering_ to his fears. Your people need you, Alfred. My brother, the people of Spades… _I_ need you to stand up. This is my last chance to speak out, and I will not have it be done in vain.” Alfred frowned, and Juliana gave his shoulder a feeble tug. “Please, you must stand up! Your people… my brother… They need you!”

Feeling his eyes water, Alfred tried to press his palms to the rain-slicked ground, only to have them slip and scratch along the uneven stones. If Juliana was right, then there was still a chance to finish the fight that had somehow started due to one man’s misunderstanding. Juliana still knelt beside him, desperately speaking words of impressed praise, but Alfred didn’t pay attention to it as he finally managed to push himself up and off of the ground.

With a startled gasp, Alfred felt the world come back to him with a force. His heart pounded loud in his ears, real and throbbing, and the rain was chilling against his burning skin. Though he knew there was supposed to be pain where he’d been stabbed, Alfred didn’t feel anything. His torso was numb, effected only when Alfred tried to flex the muscles in his stomach, only earning a nauseating reaction in response.

As Alfred lifted himself back up onto his elbows, he squinted up at the soldiers that flanked him. None of them made a move to attack him; in fact, the vast majority of them looked ready to faint. Grunting a bit, Alfred panted as his body refused to follow the simplest orders. It felt like a weight was pressed into his back, and no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to stand up again.

“You’re stronger than that,” Juliana goaded as she stood over Alfred, beckoning with her teasing tones. “Show me that you are strong. Show me you are worthy of your title as King.”

Feeling his jaw clench as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. From there, he grasped the sword that he’d dropped off to his left, and used it as a prop to help him stand. He could do it. He was the King of Spades for a reason; his life had lead him to this moment. The moment which he could make a stand against everything that he thought he couldn’t be. It was time to stop believing the voices in his head that continually told him to quit. It was time to accept that he was truly astounding… and he wasn’t going to waste a second chance to prove it.

When Alfred finally stood, he was leaning heavily against his sword with shaking arms and legs. His voice blurred and the world tilted, but he shifted his feet a bit further apart and kept upright. All around him, the soldiers that Samuel had gathered stood by with horrified expressions. They hadn’t expected Alfred to stand up again; it was understandable. He should have been dead, and yet he stood, albeit a bit hazily, ready to continue fighting.

"You've made it this far," Juliana murmured in his ear softly. Alfred closed his eyes for a moment; he could almost feel the warmth of her breath, and when he leaned back, he could feel her arms holding him up. Juliana huffed a breath of laughter, and Alfred felt himself pushed forward by her capable hands. "Now surge onward, my King. You've come too far to fall."

"I've already fallen," Alfred sighed as Samuel's soldiers stumbled away from him.

"And yet you still live and breathe." Juliana said through tight lips, as if the topic was uncomfortable. "Keep living... keep breathing, my King. These people must know your strength. I'd rather your name not be lost to the pages of the Archives... at least, not yet."

Alfred coughed a laugh, taking a wobbling step forward as Samuel watched him with wide, horrified eyes. Juliana didn't want him to die... not yet, anyway. Alfred had no doubt that Arthur wanted him to keep living; hell, he'd said so himself. Lifting his sword with his right arm – the left had gone a bit numb – Alfred narrowed his eyes at Samuel and smiled.

"Ah, there he is," Juliana breathed against the shell of Alfred's ear. "There is the King that I love so dearly."

And with that, Alfred stepped forward and gave a wild swing at Samuel, hearing the sound of his blade burning through the rain-chilled air as Samuel took a frightened step back. Almost stumbling on a crooked stone in his path, Alfred gasped when he stumbled as his body locked, then froze. Every muscle tingled for a moment, as if his entire body had been denied a proper amount of blood, and suddenly the blood flow had been returned.

Samuel tried to take advantage of the brief weakness, pulling a small, flimsy dagger from a pouch on his baldric, and surging towards Alfred. Feeling his foot pulled from underneath him, Alfred tripped back and to the left as Samuel went falling past him. Alfred looked for the hand that had moved his foot, but there was no one near him. Was it magic that save him, or...

“Why… _why?_ ” Samuel growled as he turned around to wave his weapon at Alfred. “Why do you keep getting in my way, you pathetic _boy_? You’re supposed to be dead!”

Alfred blinked sadly at Samuel; he wasn’t pathetic. If anyone was pathetic, it had to be Samuel. He was fighting for the reputation and recognition of a scoundrel. He was fighting for a lie. Alfred… he was fighting for thousands of lives. He was fighting to save his home. And he was fighting to save the love of his life.

“You think you belong here?” Samuel spat as he stalked forward in all of his overbearing armor. Alfred didn’t flinch away, and chose instead to press the tip of his sword into the ground and lean against it with a bored expression. He was tired of Samuel, and tired of his boorish, drawn-out antics. Samuel grasped the front of Alfred’s rain-soaked vest and pulled him forward, glaring into Alfred’s tired eyes with a sickening kind of passion. “Do you think you think you could possibly defeat a _King_?”

Alfred huffed; he _was_ the King. Samuel was spouting pathetic nonsense in hopes Alfred would be intimidated. With a roll of his eyes, Alfred felt his head spin a bit when Samuel gave him a violent shake. There was warm, slick blood dripping down into his eyes, but Alfred made no move to wipe it away; he was just too tired.

“You are just a child! An outsider to a kingdom that is rightfully mine!” Samuel shook Alfred again, and Alfred lifted his sword a bit. “You’ve stolen my throne, and I’ve come to take it back, you little thief!” Moving back his right foot to properly brace himself, Alfred blinked slowly at Samuel’s dark, crazed eyes. “You have no place here, you… you…” Samuel narrowed his eyes, and lifted his dagger once more. He must not have seen that Alfred had drawn back his sword and was holding the tip of it to his armor-plated chest. “You _imposter._ ”

“Speak for yourself,” Alfred grunted as he ran his sword through the thick metal of Samuel’s armor.

Breaking past the thickness of his ribcage and running through the tendons and nerves of the spine and spinal cord, Alfred huffed as he finally gave the last blow. There was a definite look of shock on Samuel’s face as Alfred held the sword tightly, then gave it a slow, torturous twist. The jarring sound of tearing metal and breaking bone overpowered the light sound of rainfall, and Alfred sighed. It was over. Even as Samuel’s hand with the dagger started to come down at Alfred, the King of Spades easily stepped back, leaving his sword stationed in Samuel’s chest as he did so.

When Samuel fell, the ring of his armor against stone echoed through the capital city. Alfred let out a heaving breath, and looked up at what remained of Samuel’s army. Each soldier he locked eyes with dropped their swords, surrendering without having to say a word. Stepping away from Samuel’s body, Alfred felt a certain weight start to settle in his limbs.

His body was a formerly empty puppet, but someone was quickly filling him with sand, trying to drag him back down to earth bit by bit. Holding a hand to the wound in his torso, Alfred felt his fingers slip against the gap where flesh formerly resided. When he started to gasp for breath as he shuffled forward, one of Samuel’s soldiers came next to him and put Alfred’s arm over his shoulder.

With the help of that soldier, Alfred managed to get back to the palace gates. There, he saw Arthur lying on the ground, surrounded by the people that desperately held him back. Looking down at Arthur with blurry eyes, Alfred waved for the soldier to help him kneel. When he was close enough, he saw that Arthur’s pale lips were turning blue, and his breathing was much too shallow to be comfortable.

Rubbing his thumb across one of Arthur’s cheeks, Alfred leaned forward to press a kiss to Arthur’s lips.

“Arthur,” he breathed against his cold lips. “Arthur, I did it. I won.” When he leaned back, he could barely see slivers of Arthur’s emerald eyes. There was a glimmer in those tired irises, and Alfred felt a sad smile come to his lips as Arthur struggled to take a deeper breath. “And I… I came back to you…” Alfred leaned forward again, laying his head down on Arthur’s blood covered chest. There, he blinked the raindrops from his eyes as he quietly murmured, “I came back… just like… like I promised.”

                When Alfred couldn’t find the strength to take another breath, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over him as he lay with Arthur just outside their home. They were _safe_. And in the end, being with Arthur was the only thing Alfred wanted. Arthur’s hand was on his shoulder, holding him to Arthur’s chest securely as he finally, _happily_ , breathed his last sigh, and closed his tired eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Thank you for reading.  
> See you next time!


	25. Perficio

                There is a theory – a rumor, really – that when someone has a near-death experience, they see a bright light. For Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, he knew that the rumor couldn’t be true. When he lay dying, he never saw a light. His vision blurred and dimmed, and he could distinctly register the feeling of his heart slowing to a heaving, sad stop. There was no light. He didn’t see pearly gates, and he never heard a chorus of angels beckoning him to a better place.

                As Alfred lay ready for death, waiting for it to take him away, he was not greeted by Arthur’s great gods. His dead relatives did not come to take him away, and no grim reaper waved him onward with a boney, pale hand.

                The only thing that Alfred felt was the soft, delicate hand of his lover resting lightly on his shoulder. Arthur’s hand… the hand that cupped his cheeks and pulled him forward for countless kisses. The hand that wiped away his tears if he cried and leaned on his shoulder when Arthur was tired. It was the hand that cradled his head when he was falling asleep and traced along the seam of his lips when he smiled. Even as he lay waiting for death, Alfred could easily remember every experience he had with Arthur’s more than capable hands.

                In fact, if he had the time, Alfred happily recalled every moment he had with Arthur. His soft lips, his piercing, captivating eyes, and his long legs that Alfred happily remembered tracing his fingers across. Alfred could easily remember the roll of Arthur’s eyes when there was a reference to something he couldn’t understand, and the melodic sound of his laugh when Alfred kiss along his neck. The sweet sound of his singing when he was taking a bath, and the cutting sound of his retorts when he was arguing… Alfred remembered everything.

                Yes, Alfred had experienced more beautiful emotions and sensations with Arthur than he had with anyone else in his life. If anyone stopped him on his way to whatever the afterlife was, he would gladly sit down and tell them he’d spent valuable time with the love of his life. He was more content to know that he was dying in Arthur’s arms than anything else.

                The formerly dark, frightening aspects of death didn’t scare Alfred now. Now, he was more than happy to greet the blurry, grey landscape of death. Feeling his brow furrow, Alfred frowned. Wasn’t there supposed to be a beautiful, heavenly world around him, or at the very least, a burning kind of hell? There was nothing but a dim, grey view in front of him.

                Noise quickly surrounded him, coddling him in the almost alarming sound of voices. Somewhere, a door was closing slowly; Alfred listened to the hinges creak. Footsteps. Not boots… women’s shoes, it seemed. Nice heels clicking on polished floors. Someone was whispering… what were they saying? Alfred struggled to listen; there was something hindering his hearing. As if someone was holding a pillow over his head, everything was muffled… and the grey area that was his vision never dissipated.

                He was laying down on some sort of cot, at the very least. It was the one thing he could tell for sure. The cushioning was thin, and he was sure that his back would hurt from laying on it for so long, but for the time being, he couldn’t quite tell if it hurt or not. Every appendage was weak and lifeless. It was like he’d forgotten to flip the switch that controlled his muscles, and everything just sat slack with no strength. Struggling to somehow turn his head or lift his arms, Alfred listened closely as a young girl’s voice spoke loud enough to break through the hazy that covered his ears.

                “He rose like a phoenix,” she said solemnly as the sound of a chair creaking filled the space around them. Did she sit down, or stand up? “They say it was magnificent. The magic of Spades in his eyes and the strength of it in his hands… they say he looked like a god with the way he stood.” Alfred felt his head ache dully; was the girl talking about him, or someone else? And her voice… Alfred had heard it before. It was so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The girl spoke again, this time a bit softer. “I only wish we’d come to you sooner… this may not have happened.”

                The girl’s conversation partner – sitting at Alfred’s right side – sighed. “It’s all right.”

Alfred felt his heart jump up to his throat; it was _Arthur._ His Arthur. His only love. Was he alive, or were they meeting in some strange heaven? Alfred tried to sit up and remove the blank, grey covering from his eyes, but his body would not obey. He was locked in place atop the cot, voiceless and motionless as Arthur and the girl continued to speak.

“It’s a miracle that you came when you did,” Arthur’s voice sounded strangled and tired. Alfred wondered if he was still in pain from when he was stabbed. Did heaven erase that pain, or was Arthur still dealing with the aftershocks? Arthur took a deep breath, and shifted where he sat. “If you hadn’t been there, I’m sure I’d be dead. As would Alfred.”

The girl made a discomforted noise. “But, if we’d arrived sooner –”

“Lili,” Arthur said crisply. Alfred almost gained the strength to smile; it was Lili. She must’ve used her magic to save them. But how had she known that Spades would need her assistance? Arthur spoke again. “I know you feel guilty, my dear… but let me assure you that you hold no blame for our injuries.” Lili sighed, and Arthur chuckled lowly. “Furthermore, you have a plethora of things to deal with in Diamonds… how has Natasha fit into the palace? Is she overwhelmed?”

Lili made a giggling, euphoric sound that made Alfred’s spirits lift. She sounded happier than he’d ever heard her… but what was Arthur talking about? Natasha… wasn’t that the girl that was in love with Lili? Ivan’s younger sister? Why would she be in the palace, and why would she be overwhelmed? Alfred gave another order for his mouth to open and his voice to work, but nothing happened. He merely sat quietly as Lili gave a response that dripped with dreamy contentment.

“The crown and its duties fit like a glove for her… I’m almost envious. I can only imagine how many people will want to attend her coronation.” Lili giggled again, but this time it was a little melancholy. “I’m sure that the gods will mark me as a disgrace for saying this, but… I’m almost… _happy_ that things have happened this way.”

The sound of clothing being folded; someone was moving a bit. “I can understand why you’d feel that way,” Arthur said softly, almost inaudible through Alfred’s muffled ears. “Francis… he didn’t always treat you respectably. Perhaps it was fate that he…” there was an uncomfortable pause, and Arthur finished slowly. “I think that it’s best, this way. They say an unhappy Queen leads to an unhappy Kingdom. With Natasha, I’m sure that Diamonds will be much better off.”

Alfred’s struggled to wrap his head around the information he’d just gained. Was Francis dead? How did it happen? Why? Alfred wanted take the coverings from his eyes, he wanted to see Arthur and know that he was alive… after he was finished holding Arthur, _then_ he would ask about Francis.

Trying to tilt back his head, Alfred fought to part his lips around one frustrated, disgruntled sound from the back of his throat. After he managed to make that sound, Lili and Arthur both froze in their places. The room was silent say for Alfred’s uneven breathing, and when Alfred managed to make another low, groaning sound, hands immediately found their way to his face.

“Alfred,” Arthur whispered breathlessly, brushing his thumbs over Alfred’s cheeks. Alfred felt himself gain a little strength from the connection, and he leaned his cheek into the palm of Arthur’s hand. There was a catch in Arthur’s throat as he laughed, almost like he was fighting back tears as he spoke. “Alfred, can you hear me? Say something, love.”

Alfred _wanted_ to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t listen. His tongue felt a little fuzzy, like he’d been drinking again, and he had a hangover that left him immobile. Swallowing dryly, Alfred tilted his chin up, and grunted another unintelligible noise. He wanted to say Arthur’s name… how difficult could that be? He’d never struggled so much before… why was it so hard to just move his lips and tongue around the shapes of Arthur’s name? He’d said it so many times before. He had whispered it, cursed it, and even shouted it… and now, he couldn’t even spit it out.

“W-why isn’t he saying anything?” Arthur asked Lili desperately, his thumbs pressing down against Alfred’s cheeks uncomfortably. Alfred tried to tell Arthur to let go, but he only let out a discomforted whine. That only made Arthur more frantic. “What’s wrong with him? Alfred, are you in pain? Are you suffering?”

“Please… please, calm down, Arthur.” Lili asked quietly, standing from her place with a jittery step forward.

                “I can’t calm down!” Arthur retorted quickly as his hands slipped away from Alfred’s cheeks to brush through Alfred’s hair. Something hindered the flow of his fingers through Alfred’s hair… bandages? Was that what made everything sound so hazy? Arthur sounded terrified when he spoke again. “I can’t be calm; my husband is swaddled in bandages and unable to speak!”

                Lili stepped closer to the cot quickly, and through the grey hazy of the bandages that covered his eyes, he could see a new, pale yellow light staining his vision. Warmth bathed his limbs, and as he grew uncomfortably hot, he managed to move his hands a bit. Arthur quickly grasped his hand and held it tight, asking for Alfred to squeeze his hand in return. To Alfred’s relief, he was able to do just that, squeezing Arthur’s hand shakily and turning the corners of his lips up into a smile.

                “Oh, gods,” Arthur laughed breathlessly, holding Alfred’s hand tightly as Lili continued to use whatever magic she possessed to help Alfred regain his strength. “A-Alfred, darling… can you say something? Anything?”

                “He hit his head very hard,” Lili murmured stoically as she stood over Alfred. “And… and there was a lot of blood. I’ve been healing him over small periods of time… if I do it all at once, I might cause more damage than good.” Alfred swallowed nervously and clamped his mouth shut. If Lili was worried about Alfred’s head getting more screwed up, maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. That idea was wiped away when Lili sighed and said, “His brain… I think I’ve righted all the damage done, there. He shouldn’t move quite yet, but… but he should be able to speak.”

                Arthur paused, then leaned forward to caress Alfred’s cheek with the tips of his fingers so gently, Alfred almost believed he was imagining it.

                “So… so he _can_ say something?” Arthur asked cautiously, as if he didn’t want to get his hopes up too high.

                Lili hummed lowly. “Yes... but I’m sure he’s still tired. I’m forcing his body to heal itself, and that requires a lot of work… I’m sure he’s been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few days while I’ve been healing him.” Alfred felt his chest constrict anxiously; _days_? Lili had been tending to him… for days? Before he had a chance to speak up and thank Lili, another hand was placed on his left shoulder. It was smaller than Arthur’s hand… it must’ve been Lili. “On your own time, King of Spades. Don’t force yourself to speak if it hurts.”

                While Arthur mumbled a soft, worrisome agreement, Alfred parted his lips around a sigh. Every limb felt lighter now that Lili had gone back to work, and the fuzziness of his tongue was quickly fading away. Licking his lips nervously, Alfred took a deep breath and breathed out one word.

                “Arthur,” Alfred winced at the sound of his own voice; it was strangled and scratchy, as if he was a dying man in the desert, begging for water. His head ached at the strain it took to speak, but it made him feel better to know that he regained control of his own body. Arthur squeezed his hand, and Alfred smiled a little as he squeezed back. “You… you’re alive.”

                “Well, of course I am.” Arthur said gently, passing his fingers through Alfred’s hair slowly.

                Alfred smiled wider, feeling a bit stronger with each passing moment. “I… I did it. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

                “Yes, darling,” Arthur agreed, and Alfred could almost hear the smile in his voice. His hands were shaking, as if the idea of Alfred speaking to him was enough to warrant trembling worry. “You were… so brave, Alfred.” Alfred laughed just once, and felt his stomach ache at the action. Before he could complain, Arthur pressed forward and kissed him.

                Smiling against Arthur’s lips when he pulled back, Alfred sighed, “And I came back to you.”

                Arthur let out a giddy laugh before his kissed Alfred again, cupping his face in trembling hands and touching their foreheads together as he murmured, “Thank you,” Arthur paused just a moment, and Alfred smiled. “Thank you for coming back.”

+++++

                As the weeks passed after Alfred’s standoff with Samuel, the capitol city rose from the ashes of its attack and blazed brighter than ever. Most funds were fished out of the royal reserves, but Diamonds donated money and supplies to be dispersed among the capital. They tore down old, burnt shops, and replace them will new walls that gleamed. The old burnt roofs were carved away and new ones easily took their place. Even the shattered windows were brought back better than ever by craftsmen and women of the capitol, replacing some windows of the palace with shimmering colors of stained glass.

                Beyond the reaches of the capitol, it was revealed to Alfred that the army of Clubs stood tall at the borders of Spades. With watchful eyes, the scouted for any of Samuel’s wandering soldiers, interrogated them, and relinquished the young men to their rightful kingdoms. As the days wore on, the need for the assistance of Clubs lessened, and when it was deemed that no more of Samuel’s soldiers were present in Spades, the army of Clubs traveled back to their home.

                In the fields that were burned and farming towns that were ransacked, a legion of Hearts soldiers cooked food for the hungry and aided in building shelters for the homeless until further help could be given. Across the wide plains and even over the Astri mountains, King Ludwig and Queen Kiku sent healers and builders to restore the standing of the villages to the West and North. After several weeks, soldiers and healers from Hearts began their way back to their own kingdom, finally mollified with their care for Spades.

After her third week in Spades, Lili excused herself back to Diamonds, where she eagerly planned Natasha’s coronation. Though Alfred wasn’t given exclusive details, it was later revealed that Diamonds had been fighting alongside the army of Diamonds, working to keep their allies safe. Lili had been inside the front lines of the battle, healing what little she could for her soldiers and stringing a bow when she needed. Unfortunately, she had been healing a young woman when one of Samuel’s soldiers had come at her with a battle-axe. Though Alfred wasn’t sure why he did it, Francis had thrown himself in the way of the blow, saving Lili from an otherwise gruesome fate. In retrospect, Alfred had to suspect Francis’s selflessness… Was he doing it to save Lili, or was it to make himself a martyr that fell in a trail of blazing glory? Alfred would never know.

                As Spades continued to be restored, Alfred was slowly but surely taken off of bedrest. After a good day of fussing from Lili, Alfred was allowed to take the bandages from his eyes and face, revealing a very bright world that Alfred was more than happy to see again. Three more days after that, and Alfred could sit up in bed without feeling dizzy. As the days turned into weeks, the sluggish limp in Alfred’s step started to fade away, and he eagerly began to help with the reconstruction of the palace. Arthur, on the other hand, still dealt with an acute pain in his chest if he overexerted himself, and Alfred was more than happy to escort Arthur back to the bedroom to lay down and take a short nap.

                But now, as Alfred stood in their bedroom five weeks after the War of Vendettas – as it was dubbed by Yao – the castle was standing taller than ever, greeting the oncoming autumn with bright vigor.

                “Arthur, have you seen my glasses?” Alfred asked with a pinched expression as he stepped out of the bathroom. The crisp air of fall swept into the room through the open windows, and Alfred shivered as his wet hair dripped down onto his bare skin. He should’ve brought his pajamas with him when he took his bath, but he’d forgotten. Now, his glasses were missing.

                “What was that?” Arthur droned in response, not actually listening.

Squinting at Arthur, Alfred huffed and pulled his towel around his waist tight. Arthur was laid back on their bed with a book in his hand and his reading glasses perched prestigiously on his nose. If Alfred hadn’t been cold and frantic to find his glasses, he would’ve stopped to admire the way Arthur was waiting for him.

When Arthur made no move to respond to him, Alfred trudged over to the bed with a towel tied precariously loose around his waist and held his hand in front of Arthur’s face. That gained Arthur’s attention; he looked up from his book with an irritated insult no doubt on his lips, only to bite it back when his eyes caught sight of Alfred’s bare chest. Arthur bit his bottom lip and smiled as Alfred rolled his eyes.

“My glasses, Arthur.” When Arthur’s eyes started to drift down Alfred’s chest and to his waistline, Alfred snapped his fingers in front of Arthur’s eyes impatiently. Arthur blinked spastically and removed his glasses, not apologizing for openly staring. “Have you seen them?”

“Your glasses?” Arthur repeated, crossing his legs at his ankles and pursing his lips. “No, I can’t say that I have.” Setting his book and his reading glasses atop the bedside table, Arthur shamelessly reached up and slid his hands down Alfred’s chest slowly. Alfred arched an eyebrow at the movement, and bit back a smile when Arthur’s fingertips stopped at the edge of his towel. “Does it really matter, love? You’re coming to bed… Find them in the morning.”

Crawling up onto the bed, Alfred loomed over Arthur with a smile. “I need to see, Arthur. And when I wake up in the morning, I’ll want to get out of bed,” he could feel Arthur’s hands tugging away the towel around his waist, but Alfred busied himself with kissing just under Arthur’s ear before he breathed, “And without my glasses, I’ll be blind.”

Sitting back and away from Arthur, Alfred blinked. The conversation felt too familiar. Had he spoke to Arthur about losing his glasses before? No, he’d always found them on his own… then why was he feeling such a nostalgic ring in the back of his head?

Arthur quickly caught onto the mood, and held dropped the soggy towel onto the bedroom floor as he cocked his head to the side.

“Alfred?” He asked quietly, like he was waiting for Alfred to reject him. Alfred quickly put a cautious smile on his face, shifting on the bed until he sat next to Arthur. Arthur immediately put a hand on his bare chest, sliding his fingers over the three inch long scar that mapped Alfred’s fatal injury from the war. Though the motion was meant to be comforting, Alfred let out a soft laugh at the ticklish movement. Arthur smiled and leaned in close, murmuring in his ear. “What’s wrong, darling? Did I put you off, somehow?”

                “Nah, it wasn’t you,” Alfred sighed. “Just got a weird sense of déjà vu… like I’ve had this conversation before.”

                “I certainly hope not,” Arthur said crossly, leaning his weight into Alfred and pinning him back against the pillows. Alfred smiled lazily up at Arthur, not bothering to try squinting at him. He’d already memorized Arthur’s face; all he had to do was close his eyes, and there Arthur’s perfect eyes would be. His smile would gleam, and his laughter would ring like bells… Alfred smiled as Arthur kissed him soundly, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Having such intimate relations with another person… I think I just might drown in jealousy.”

                Alfred hummed lowly against Arthur’s lips before he tilted his chin back and felt Arthur kiss along his jawline. “We should talk about that, sometime.” Arthur gave a noncommittal noise and nipped at Alfred’s sensitive neck, gaining a giggling squirm from Alfred. “You… uh, you really do have a jealous streak a mile wide.”

                “A mile?” Arthur asked against Alfred’s damp skin, kissing his earlobe once more before asking, “How wide is that? Is it as long as a kilometer?”

                After letting Arthur shower him with affection for a few seconds, Alfred reached up and pulled Arthur down until he was lying flat against him. The movement squeezed the air from Arthur’s lungs, and Alfred smiled as Arthur exhaled a breath of mint tea. It seemed unfair that he was the only one without clothing, so Alfred grasped the hem of Arthur’s shirt and lifted until Arthur wiggled out of it. Then, he pulled Arthur back down against his chest and held him close.

                Arthur gave out a discomforted whine, and Alfred loosened his grip slightly. “If we need to talk about anything, it’s the fact that your strength is out of hand.” Alfred made a sour face, and Arthur shifted until his thigh rested comfortably between Alfred’s legs. “You must learn to control it.”

                “I _can_ control it.” Alfred argued weakly, sliding his hands up and down Arthur’s back as gently as he could.

                “You tried to take my hand this morning, and for a moment, I thought you had crushed it.” Arthur snorted and traced the scar on Alfred’s chest softly. “And yesterday when you took me to bed, you left bruises on my hips.” He paused to tilt his head back and give Alfred a pointed look and a smile. “I can see the imprint of your hands on my thighs… and the back of my knee, where you held up my leg.”

                Shrugging awkwardly, Alfred turned his head to look out the open windows at the blushing sky. Dream-heavy clouds lingered on the horizon, stained a flattering pink by the setting sun as a peaceful night readily reached out for Spades. Alfred smiled; things were finally settled down. The kingdom was almost entirely repaired, and harmony echoed through the streets. He and Arthur no longer lost sleep over a war-crazed man, and their former allies were slowly but surely slinking back with apologies.

                Turning back to blearily smile at Arthur, Alfred felt a warm sensation spread through his chest. Arthur looked so content where he laid against him. His eyelids were drooping as he blinked slowly, but the heartwarming gleam never left his irises. His smile didn’t fade as he reached a hand up to brush hair from Alfred’s eyes. There were no sleep-deprived circles under his eyes, and no concerning lines furrowed his brow… he was happy. Perfectly happy. And so was Alfred.

                Letting out a deep breath, Alfred close his eyes and laid his head back. “Okay, maybe I _do_ need to learn a little more about controlling my strength.” Arthur mumbled the word “definitely,” but Alfred didn’t pay it any mind as he languidly traced the line of Arthur’s spine up and down. Arthur shivered delightfully beneath the attention, and Alfred smiled wider. “It’s a good thing I have a while to learn.”

                “Oh, Alfred,” Arthur breathed as he pressed his cheek to Alfred’s chest. “You have an eternity to learn… and I’ll be with you, every moment.”

                Kissing the top of Arthur’s hair, Alfred inhaled the sweet scent of lilacs and breathed, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**-End-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to give a shout-out to everyone who stayed with me and help me write this fic. Thank you.  
> And next, a thank you to everyone who read this story. Thank you, each and every one of you.  
> I hope you all enjoyed the story and enjoyed the journey we took.
> 
> Thank you all very much. And I'll see you in another story.
> 
> [Also: I may upload an epilogue later, but at my own discretion.]


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